Second Time Around
by Susan82
Summary: Dean and Sam head to Maryland after receiving a call from an old client of John and Dean's. Could the two eldest Winchesters have missed something the first time around? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This takes place sometime after The Benders episode, but before the next one (I forget which is next in line). So therefore, spoilers may occur from any episode from the pilot on, with one small spoiler from Something Wicked. Thanks for taking the time to read my ramblings with our favorite boys.

**Second Time Around**

Sam paced nervously around the small motel room. He only had a few minutes, ten…. fifteen at best, until Dean returned. Dean had not left his side ever since they left Minnesota, and although deep down he was touched, he was starting to get aggravated. Dean tried to act like Sam went missing everyday, like it was just another thing. But Sam could see through his brother's macho exterior, and he could tell that almost losing Sam to those backwoods hicks really shook him. Sam had played nearly card to convince Dean to let him stay behind while Dean went on a food run. He felt bad about faking the headache, but it had worked like a charm.

Sam looked at his watch, then sat cross-legged on the bed. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to focus his thoughts. He was tired of being the victim. While Dean and Sam seemed to be an equal team, lately Sam had been feeling like a burden. First he gets saddled with skull piercing visions, then he manages to get himself kidnapped, sending Dean to his rescue. Well, no more. Sam was taking back control of his life.

Removing the lid of the aspirin bottle he swallowed three pills. Better safe than sorry. Ok, time to get these visions to work for him for a change. Shutting his eyes, he worked out the tension in his shoulders, and concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and even. Sam put all thoughts away; only one thing remained in the forefront of his thoughts. "Dad."

Dean balanced the coffee and takeout bags in one hand while opening the door with the other. He'd yelled for Sam to come give him a hand, but the door remained locked. Finally getting the door open, he walked through the doorway and stopped, a confused but semi-amused look on his handsome face.

Sam was sitting rigidly on the bed, his hands resting on his knees. Was he meditating? Oh this was too good. A soft smile etched on his lips, Dean hooked his leg around the back of the door, and slammed it so hard the picture on the wall rattled. He leaned casually against the door as Sam's eyes popped open in alarm. Dean laughed heartily as Sam nearly fell off the bed. Regaining his balance, an embarrassed Sam glared at Dean, his fists wrapped tightly in the bedspread.

"Dammit, Dean, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Sam exclaimed angrily.

Still laughing, Dean walked over to Sam and held out one of the coffees. "So, Sammy, whatcha doin'?"

Sam glared as he reached for the cup. Just before he was about to grab it, Dean moved it out of reach. "No way," Dean said, shaking his head. "Not until you tell me what you were doing, Buddha Boy."

Sam focused on the bed, as if the right answer lay in the red polka dotted bedspread. Wow, they sure had a knack for finding the ugliest motel rooms in America. Maybe when this whole thing was over with, he could write a book on all the… "Sam!" Dean was still staring him down, waiting.

"I was trying to find Dad." he said softly.

"What, by daydreaming?" Realization hit Dean, and he sat down on his own bed. "Oh, you mean, you were trying to _find_ Dad."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sam could be an Ivy League moron. "So what did you see?"

Sam sighed in frustration. "Nothing. Not Dad, not the thing he's hunting. Nothing."

Dean took out a burger, then tossed the bag to Sam. "Well, it was a good idea. Next time, don't shut me out. I want to find Dad just as much as you do, you know."

Sam's reply was cut off as a muffled ringing sounded from Dean's pocket. His stomach fluttered a little as he listened to Dean's end of the conversation. Is it possible that their Dad was on the other end? Had he somehow sensed Sam, and called them? Dean met Sam's eyes as he gave a tentative, "Hello?" A few agonizing seconds passed, then Dean continued. "Sure, Mr. Morgan, of course I remember you. How've you been?"

Sam set his food down, dejected. He supposed he knew deep down that their father wouldn't be contacting them again, but there was always that stubborn part of him that refused to give up hope.

Dean turned to face the window. The disappointment he'd seen on Sam echoed in his own heart. He focused on the voice he hadn't heard in over a year. _"Well, Dean, I'm not gonna lie. I've been better."_

"Is something going on?" Dean asked.

"_Yes, I think so. I'm just not sure exactly what. I couldn't get hold of your dad at his number. Is he with you?"_

Dean used his most professional tone. "Actually, he's out on a job, incommunicado. What's been happening? She's not back, is she?"

"_I don't want to get into it over the phone. Listen, I really need the two of you to come out here. You must have some way to reach him."_

"I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan, it's just not possible. He's in California helping a family." Our family, Dean thought to himself. "But I can come down if you like. If we leave now we can be there in two days."

Dean's mind was racing. It had been a fairly simple job; they came, they investigated, they conquered. Was it possible that they had missed something?

"_We? You said your dad wasn't with you."_

"No, he's not. Actually my brother Sam will be with me." Dean resisted the urge to add a quick barb. Anytime he could bust Sam's chops he took full advantage of it, but Mr. Morgan was obviously distressed. It was Dean's job to alleviate that stress, not add to it. "He's a very capable hunter."

"_Oh good, good. You remember the address?" _Dean could sense the relief in the man's voice.

"Yes. We're on our way." Dean hung up the phone and took a deep breath to calm his nervous stomach. Mr. Morgan sounded much more agitated than he did the last time. He hated not knowing what they were walking into.

"Well," he turned back around. "Time to hit the road."

Sam was standing before him, his bag already packed and slung over his shoulder.

"Where?" Sam asked.

Dean walked over to his own empty bag. Taking out his cell phone, he stared at it, as if magically it would present the answers that were stampeding through his head. He thought briefly about calling his father. Familiar feelings of bitterness and hurt began to surface, and he shoved the phone back into his pocket. His dad hadn't bothered to show up when Dean was dying, there was no reason to think he'd show up now.

Dean looked over at his brother, the one constant he had in his life. Sam was ready to spring into action, no questions asked.Sam hadnever shown their father that kind of trust. Dean felt his confidence soar; there wasn't anything the two of them couldn't handle. He tossed the car keys to Sam, and answered his brother's query, "Maryland."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam waited patiently for the right moment. All he needed was a distraction, one split second to make his move. Shifting his eyes to the left, he took in his opponent's tense posture. Sam knew he'd have to move quickly once the opportunity presented itself. Suddenly, the car swerved to the right as Dean placed both hands on the wheel to avoid the pothole. The radio unguarded, Sam struck. A triumphant grin spread across his face as the car was once again filled with silence…a silence that was quickly broken by a very pissed off Dean.

"Dammit, Sam, cut it out." Dean bellowed as he turned the radio back on. "This stopped being funny two hours ago!"

Sam chuckled to himself. He couldn't help but notice the irony of the situation. Dean usually got his kicks messing with his little brother's head. It felt nice to turn the tables for once.

"So, when are you going to fill me in on this gig?" Sam asked

"I told you everything I know, Sam." Dean replied.

"Ok, then, tell me about the last time you were in, what town are we going to again?"

"Harborview, and there isn't much to tell. There was a ghost, we got rid of it." Dean said shortly.

The music cut off suddenly, followed by a small click. Dean glanced over to see a very determined Sam holding his Metallica tape hostage.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Dad got a call from Father Jim asking him to check out something for a friend of his, Bill Morgan. Mr. Morgan runs a historical site down in Maryland. It actually used to be an old mansion, but about ten years ago it was sold to the town. Mr. Morgan thought the place was haunted."

"Poltergeist or spirit?" Sam asked.

"Spirit." Dean answered. "It was the ghost of the woman who lived there in the '70's. She was one of your kind, Sammy…a psychic." Deanenjoyed a small feeling of satisfaction as he felt Sam shift uncomfortably in his seat. They were both getting used to Sam's new gift, but it was still his right as the older brother to rag on him about it.

Sam steered the conversation away from himself. "So you did the usual salt and burn?"

"Yeah. No big deal. Even you could've handled it." Dean teased.

Sam rolled his eyes. "And that's it? Nothing else?"

Dean shook his head. "That's it."

Sam reached into the backseat and pulled the laptop out of its case. "Maybe I should do another search."

"Don't bother. We're almost there."

Sam leaned forward and could just make out a large building off in the distance. "Wow" he breathed as the mansion seemed to grow larger with every passing second.

Dean pulled the car to a stop and leaned forward on the steering wheel. "It took Dad and me a whole day just to case the place. Dad got lost twice." Dean lightly whacked Sam on the arm. "Come on."

Walking up the front steps, the door opened just as Dean reached for the bell. A gray-haired man in his early fifties stood before them, a haggard look on his face. As his gaze shifted from Sam to Dean, a look of relief spread across his face. "Dean. Thank God!"

Shaking the man's hand, Dean smiled. "Good to see you Mr. Morgan. This is my brother, Sam."

Sam stuck out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Mr. Morgan stared at Sam for a long moment. Blinking rapidly and shaking his head a bit, he grasped Sam's hand firmly. "Thanks for coming so quickly. Please, come in."

Dean shrugged his shoulders at the perplexed look he received from Sam. He was just as confused as Sam at the man's odd behavior.

Sam felt as if his jaw had become permanently unhinged as he took in the room before him. His eyes followed the large marble staircase as it led up to a large portrait of a beautiful young woman. From there it split, one side heading into the back of the mansion, the other leading down a long corridor. Large marble pillars flanked the staircase, and rose up to the vaulted ceiling. Sam felt his brother's amused eyes on him, and made an effort to close his mouth. "This place is incredible."

Mr. Morgan cleared his throat loudly. "Follow me, please." Without waiting for a response, he marched stiffly past the stairs.

"What's with him?" Sam whispered as they followed slowly.

"Something's really wrong; he wasn't nearly this upset the last time." Dean whispered back.

They found Mr. Morgan in a large open room with a grand piano at one end, and an old fashioned writing desk at the other. Seated at the desk, he gestured towards the two chairs facing him.

The Winchesters sat forward in the chairs, intent on the man before them. "So what is exactly is going on, Mr. Morgan?" Dean asked.

"Bill, please." He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where to begin."

"Everything was quiet after you and your dad left. The mansion ran as normal. Then a couple months ago some of the staff began reporting strange happenings, reminiscent of the prior events. Weird noises, objects moving by themselves. I didn't think much of it. I thought it was residual energy, like your dad had mentioned."

Dean nodded, and Bill took a deep breath before continuing. "The moral of the staff began to wane; people were terrified to be alone in the building. During a tour a large vase fell, almost hitting the tour guide. A week later another woman was nearly pushed down the stairs."

"Definitely more violent than last time." Dean said thoughtfully. He turned to Sam. "Poltergeist?"

Sam nodded slowly. "It's possible. And you're sure it's not the ghost of, what was her name again?"

"Monica Brooks, and no, there's no way it's her." Bill answered quickly. "It must be something else. A poltergeist, like your brother said."

"Yeah, right." Dean said. There was something Bill wasn't telling them. It was understandable for a man in his situation to be anxious, but he was practically jumping out of his skin. "Anything else we need to know about?"

Bill lowered his head. "Two nights before I called you, I found my daughter lying unconscious at the bottom of the staircase. When she woke up at the hospital she said she'd been pushed down the stairs. She could have been killed."

Dean leaned back in his chair, taken aback. "Ashley?"

"I'm so sorry." Sam said sympathetically. "How is she?"

"Broken leg, concussion. She's at home, resting." Bill slammed his fist onto the desk. "I will not let anyone else I love get hurt."

Dean and Sam nodded. After a moment of silence Sam asked, "Where did the attacks occur?"

"The vase was in the master bedroom. Ashley and the tour guide were both pushed from the main landing." Bill answered.

Dean stood up, and put as much confidence into his voice as he could. "Don't worry, Bill. We'll take care of this thing."

"Is anyone else here?" Sam asked.

"No," Bill answered. "I closed the mansion down for maintenance; we're the only ones here."

"Ok then." Sam got up as Dean continued talking. "We'll get our gear and get started."

Bill turned to Dean. "Do you need a tour of the place? I was planning on checking in on my daughter, but if you need to be shown around…"

"No, we'll be fine. Go take care of your daughter. Tell her I said hi." Dean smiled reassuringly.

A smile flickered across Bill's face as he took a key from his pocket. "I set up the guest house for you boys to stay in."

Sam shook his head. "Thanks, but we can just get a motel room."

"No, I insist." Bill said empathically. "There's been no activity in the cottage, and this way you're closer to the disturbances."

Dean took the key. "Ok, Sam, let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stood in the foyer, watching Dean put the last round of rock salt into his shotgun. "So, what do you think? Poltergeist?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "It sure sounds like it. Poltergeists usually start with pranks, then work their way up to attacking people. I just don't get why we didn't find it the last time."

The two hunters walked towards the staircase. Sam held the emf detector at arms length. "Or it could be Monica's spirit. Maybe you and Dad didn't vanquish her after all."

Dean snatched the device away from Sam. "I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"You want the staircase, or the master bedroom?" Sam asked.

"There's only been activity in two areas. There's no need to split up. You got the camcorder running?"

Sam gave him a short, "Yup." as they began to move up the steps. "So this one's name is Ashley?" Sam asked dryly.

Dean raised his eyes to glare at his smirking brother. "Dude, she's 16!" Turning back to the emf, he couldn't help but smile a little. "Although she did have a crush on me. What can I say? Woman of all ages find me irrestible."

Sam rolled his eyes toward the ornate ceiling, as if looking for salvation from his brother's enormous ego. After listening to Dean babble on for a few moments, Sam slowly made his way up the staircase. Methodically he aimed the camcorder all around, hoping for some response. When he pointed toward the side hallway, a flash of light shot across the screen.

"What the…" Sam muttered as he rewound the tape. Sam played back the last few minutes, but the mysterious glow was not there. Must have been a glitch, he thought. Either that or he was beginning to see things. Sam considered calling down to Dean, then changed his mind. Dean could always find something to razz him about. No need to give him further ammunition.

After rechecking the settings on the recorder, Sam headed down the corridor. At the end of the hallway Sam found himself in a large bedroom. Above the poster bed was a large oil painting of a beautiful dark haired woman with clear blue eyes; the same woman from the portrait by the stairs. A silver pendant rested atop her red gown. Sam was so entranced by the woman's beauty that he didn't notice the bedroom door close quietly behind him.

Setting down his shotgun, Sam took out his mini tape recorder. "Hello, Monica. Are you the one behind all this?" he murmured. As he walked the perimeter of the room, he noticed the temperature begin to dip ever so slightly.

"That's it. Let's see who we've got." he muttered. Keeping his eyes on the room around him, Sam bent down and groped for his gun. Sam's breath began to fog as he continued to feel for the gun. Glancing down, his brow furrowed in confusion. The gun was nowhere to be found. A beeping from the camcorder drew his attention. Although recharged less than a week ago, the batteries were almost depleted. Another flash across the screen sent him to his feet. He definitely saw something that time. Weaponless, Sam made his way to the door, only to find it locked. As he tugged on the doorknob, the camcorder was torn from his hand, clattering across the hardwood floor.

"Oh crap."

…………….

"I'm telling you, Sammy. This woman thing, it's a curse." Chuckling, Dean turned around to Sam…was not there. "Sam? Sam?"

His voice echoed in the vast empty room, but he received no answer. Taking the stairs two at a time, he continued calling for Sam. He tried entering the first door he came to, but the door was locked. As he moved further down the hall, every door denied him access. Leaning against the wall, he took out his cell phone.

"_Dean!" _Sam's frantic voice could barely be heard.

"Sam? Where are you?" he yelled into the phone.

_"Dean, there's ….here. Door's locked….bedroom…" _Sam's voice cut in and out as Dean pressed the phone hard against his ear, straining to catch every word.

"Sam? Sam!" Yelling in frustration, Dean threw the phone in his pocket and ran down the hallway. He stopped halfway and yelled his brother's name as loud as he could, then listened. From the end of the hall he heard a loud bang, as if something heavy had hit the door. After battling with the doorknob, he banged his fist against the door in frustration. The antique door was thick; there was no way he could kick it in. Taking out his pistol, he took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

"Dean!" Sam checked the screen on his cell phone, then threw it away. He growled in frustration, watching as his breath formed a white cloud. Moving towards where he had left the shotgun, he continued to search for it. His heart leaped as he saw the barrel poking out from below the bed. He almost had a hand on it when he was pushed violently onto his back. Groaning, he rubbed where his head had smacked against the hardwood floor.

Getting to his knees, he tried again for the gun. The bedside lamp flew off of the nightstand and slammed into his shoulder. Sam found himself once again flat on his back as he tried to catch his breath. Ok, now he was getting pissed. Raising his head slightly, he locked his gaze on the gun.

One, two…. "Three!" he yelled as he launched himself at the bed. Shouting victoriously, he leaned against the wall, pointing the gun around the room. But his relief turned to panic as the gun was ripped from his hands. He watched in horror as it lifted off the ground, suspended in midair.

"NO!" he shouted as the trigger began to move. The gunshot echoed in the vast room as Sam fell to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean burst into the bedroom, stopping short as he saw Sam laying face down next to the nightstand. "Oh God…Sam!" he yelled as he bolted across the room. Falling to his knees, he felt his brother's icy neck for a pulse. When his hand touched Sam's cold skin, Sam breathed in quickly and turned his face to the side. His fright subsided visibly as he saw it was his rescuer, not his unseen assailant kneeling next to him.

"Sam, you ok?"

"Yeah." Sam answered, his voice still a bit weak. He moved himself into a sitting position, looking warily around the room.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked.

"Um, let's talk about this somewhere else." Sam said. It appeared that whatever had attacked him was gone, but he didn't want to take any chances. Plus, his body was begging for a soothing hot shower and some painkillers.

"Good idea." Dean grabbed Sam by the arm to help him to his feet. At Sam's shout of pain he let go, looking at Sam with wide eyes. "What?"

Sam's eyes were closed as he whispered, "Shoulder."

Dean looked at Sam's shoulder, then noticed the small holes in the plaster behind him. White residue also marred the wall. He bit back the questions that were racing through his mind as he gathered up Sam's gear. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam slowly raised himself to standing position.

Sam faltered a bit as they headed down the stairs. Dean latched onto his good shoulder while he regained his balance.

Sam held up his hand, cutting off Dean's question before it even left his lips. "I'm fine. Let's go."

Dean nodded, but kept his hand firm on Sam's arm. "You wanna let me know the next time you feel like running off to become poltergeist bait, Carol Anne?"

Sam bit his lip. He knew Dean was right. He'd been hunting long enough to know the rules. When investigating the unknown, stick together. Their dad had certainly pounded that into their heads enough. Checking the time, his watch verified what his stomach was trying to tell him: dinnertime!

Sam watched Dean put their gear in the car. "Ok, so why don't you head into town, get us something to eat, and I'll start the research."

Dean looked at Sam above the open trunk. "Yeah, good try. You aren't leaving my sight from now on. Unless you gotta take a leak. In that case, you're on your own."

"And don't even think about arguing." he continued as Sam opened his mouth to protest. "First you get yourself kidnapped by those Deliverance rejects, then you get your ass attacked within an hour of our new gig. I am two seconds away from getting you one of those electric dog collars."

He got in the car, feeling the weight of Sam's glare through the metal of the Impala. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam got in and slammed the door. Sam was angry. Well, good, so was Dean. However most of Dean's anger stemmed from fear. Dean's whole life could be summed up in one word: loss. He lost his mother to a horrible fire, lost his childhood to his militant father. In his quest to find his missing father, he had watched his little brother lose that shred of innocence he had left when Jessica died. And tonight was just one of too many times where Sam could have died. No. No more. He'd be damned if he'd lose his little brother, too.

……………………………………………………………………………..

Sam came out of the shower feeling recovered, both mentally and physically. He cleared his throat as Dean sat on his bed reviewing the footage Sam had taken earlier that night.

Dean looked up and grunted. "Steven Spielberg you're not. This is like Blair Witch on rollerblades."

"Uh, Dean…" Sam started. Man, he hated apologizing.

Dean worked to keep his face straight. As much as he loved to see his little brother grovel, he was not in the mood for a touchy-feely moment. "I don't see anything. No orbs, no lights, nothing out of the ordinary."

Sam tried again. "Dean."

"Sam." Dean's voice held a slightly threatening tone. "Here," he softened his voice a bit. "I saved you some fries. I'll never understand how you can eat that crap cold."

Sam accepted the fries, recognizing the peace offering for what it was. Easing against the headboard, Sam got down to business. "So, what do you think we're dealing with?"

"Poltergeist." Dean answered simply.

"You seem pretty certain." Sam said.

Dean set the camcorder down and turned to face Sam. "What else could it be?"

"I'm not doubting you, Dean. It's just, we haven't even checked out the history of the mansion, the family, the land. And let's not forget all of the antiques." Sam said.

Dean pulled the laptop out of its case and tossed it onto Sam's bed. "Sam, Dad and I checked out every conceivable lead last year. The only person who died in the home was Monica Brooks, and we salted and burned her bones. But, please, feel free to waste your time rechecking."

Sam held his hands up. "Easy. I'm not doubting you, I just want to make sure we have all the facts. How did she die, anyway?"

"She walked in on a burglar. It seemed like she fought him off the best she could, but she fell down the main stairs and broke her neck."

"And you're sure you got everything? Remember Hook Man? We thought we'd taken care of him, too, but Lori had that silver chain." Sam stated.

"Yeah, well, I doubt Monica had a hook for a hand. Come on, Sam, you know Dad would never leave if he had any doubts he hadn't finished the job." Dean said.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And there was nothing else? No unmarked graves, cursed objects?"

Dean began to get irritated. "Why are you having such a hard time with this? It has all the markings of a poltergeist."

Sam shook his head, "No, it doesn't. It drained the batteries of the camcorder and my cell phone. The temperature in the room dropped. Draining energy from a room is more consistent with a ghost. And it felt…I don't know, it just felt more like a spirit."

Dean considered the facts. Sam was right, when you added those factors in, it did have the makings of a spirit, but too many others pointed at poltergeist activity. "Why don't you take a look at Dad's journal, see if you can find someway we can banish whatever it is. I'm gonna hit the shower."

Dean turned the water on as hot as it would go, as if the scalding water would somehow melt the nagging doubts running through his mind. He knew exactly what they were dealing with; all of the clues pointed towards a poltergeist. Well, except for the facts Sam brought up. Damn that kid, he did have some valid points. And Dean had learned over the past few months to really trust Sam's judgment. Maybe a little more research wouldn't hurt. Research that Sam would do. If he was so damned determined there was something else going on, he could do the work to find out what it is.

Toweling off his hair, he walked back into the bedroom. "So what'd you find out?" Smiling a little, he walked over to where his brother lay asleep on top of the covers, the journal splayed open on the bed next to his waist. "Or we could just wait til morning." he said softly. It was a bit early to turn in, but with Sam's annoying habit of waking them up at the asscrack of dawn, he figured he'd better get as much sleep as possible. He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be one hell of a day.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam's eyes popped open as the dream released its stranglehold on him. The images from his nightmare slowly faded as he struggled to remember what he'd seen. All that he could still clearly see were the piercing blue eyes of a raven-haired woman as she stared chillingly into his soul. He looked over to Dean's bed, where he lay dead to the world. He envied Dean's ability to sleep soundly through the night. Sam never knew what awaited him when he closed his eyes. Would he actually get some well deserved rest, or would visions and nightmares plague his sleep? Luckily tonight's episode was the latter. Nightmares he could deal with; visions were a whole other mess.

Sam got out of bed and stretched hissore muscles. Knowing he had at least three hours before he could wake Dean, he grabbed his Dad's journal and sat in the living room, turning on the lamp next to the couch.

Dean stirred as the light tried pushing its way past his tightly shut eyes. His internal clock told him it was still the middle of the night. Flopping his arm across his eyes, he mumbled, "Go back to sleep, Sam." But the light continued to worm its way past his defenses, and Dean's irritation grew as he felt any hope of falling back asleep slipping away. Dean turned over onto his stomach, and buried his face into the pillow. While his eyes found the darkness they were seeking, his ears became aware of nearby movement. Now completely awake, Dean flipped over onto his back and cracked open his eyelids, wincing as the brightness slammed into his sensitive eyes. Dean's hand flopped towards the offensive lamp, but it sat just out of his reach.

"Tell me, Lawyer Boy, what is the statute of limitations for the murder of a sibling?" his voice dripped with animosity. Dean's sullenness faded as a heavy silence filled the room. Dean sat up and scanned the room for his brother. Dean began to feel concerned as he found he was alone in the bedroom. "Sam?" he called out.

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and blew out a long breath. Why was it so hot? Getting out of bed, he once again yelled for Sam as he made his way to the door. He opened the door, only to have it yanked from his hand and slam shut. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okaay." he said slowly. "Sam, if you're messing with me, I swear I will kick your scrawny ass." His voice wavered slightly as he tried to mask his uneasiness. Dean turned the doorknob, already knowing it would be locked. Rearing back, he aimed a few solid kicks at the door, but it stood firm. Dean put his face right up to the door and shouted, "SAM!"

He was rewarded with a faint, "Dean! What's going on?"

"Sam! The damn door's stuck! I think there's..." his voice trailed off as he watched his shadow start to shrink as the light in the room began to glow brighter. Turning around, he held up a hand to shield his eyes as he made his way towards the bedside lamp. Just before he reached it he heard a large crack, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Sam watched the band of light reach out from beneath the door towards him, and then vanish. The sound of broken glass that followed sent his worry into full-blown panic. "Dean!" he screamed. But the cottage remained eerily silent. Glancing around, Sam weighed his options. There was no way he was breaking through that door; he was just as effectively locked out as he was locked in earlier in the main house.

Before he could plan his next move, Sam felt an icy hand painfully grip his arm. Wrenching his arm free, he spun around and gasped. He only had time to register a pair of dark eyes peering out from beneath a shock of black hair before he was thrown backwards. The dull ache from earlier reawakened with a vengeance as his head smacked against the wall. A woman's scream hurt his ears as Sam fell to his hands and knees. He managed to get halfway to his feet when the frigid hand grabbed him by the throat, pulling him the rest of the way up. As Sam's eyes focused he felt his gaze drawn to the captivating eyes of his assailant. The swirling flecks of blue amidst the black made him feel dizzy. Another scream shook him out of his trance, and Sam brought his arms down on the apparition's, effectively breaking her hold.

Defenseless, Sam scrambled into the living room, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. Suddenly the emaciated old woman appeared before him, her gaunt features twisted into an enraged scowl. Before he could react she backhanded him hard across the face. Sam fell to the ground, stunned. Rapidly the woman descended upon him, and placed her hands on his cheeks. Sam cried out in agony; his face felt like it was on fire.

As Sam struggled to free himself, he felt his eyes being pulled towards hers. The small blue speckles disappeared into the sea of black, and Sam felt himself become paralyzed by the intense power of her gaze. Lightheaded, Sam felt consciousness slipping away.

A heavy crash filled the room, followed by a deafening peal of thunder. The specter shrieked furiously, but did not release her grip. Sam's heart leapt as he saw Dean come up behind the woman. Dean brought the shotgun down towards his brother's attacker, only to have her bat it out of his hands. Letting go of Sam, she whirled around faster than Dean's eyes could grasp. Tilting her head upwards she gave one final bloodcurdling yell before vanishing into thin air.


	6. Chapter 6

Stunned, Dean stood with his mouth slightly agape, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He had kicked open the front door to find some weird old hag hovering over Sam. Stunned that the shot of rocksalt had no effect, he did the only thing he could think of; he took aim and swung with all his might, only to have the gun batted away like it was a twig. Then, she was gone.

A soft moan cut through the haze as Dean turned his attention towards a semiconscious Sam. "Sam?" he queried softly as he knelt beside his brother. Sam gave another weak moan as he turned his head slightly. 

"Come on, Sam, open your eyes." Dean glanced around the room warily. Although it appeared as if the menacing presence was gone, he was still uneasy. He turned his attention back to Sam, who had just opened his eyes.

"Sam. Sam, look at me." But Sam just stared blankly ahead, his expression vacant. Dean noticed for the first time the angry red marks that marred Sam's face. As he lightly touched Sam's cheek, he gasped sharply as Sam's hand flew up and encircled Dean's wrist in a viselike grip. Painfilled hazel eyes looked up into startled green eyes as the two brothers sat unmoving. Dean recovered first as he placed his free hand on Sam's upper arm and began pulling.

"Come on, we gotta move." With Dean's help, Sam was barely able to make it to the chair before his knees gave out. Dean put his face even with Sam's. "I'm gonna get our stuff. Don't move." At Sam's slow nod, Dean went into the bedroom and quickly threw their clothes into their bags. Less than a minute later they were cradled in the safety of Dean's black Impala as it sped away from the mansion.

Sam felt the fog begin to lift from his mind as they raced through the streets. He tried to sort out what had happened. He'd been dreaming…no, he'd woken up from a nightmare. He went to do a little reading when he'd heard Dean yell. Ah, Dean! Sam whipped his head towards Dean and noticed a thin trickle of blood running down Dean's cheek and disappearing under his chin. "Dean, are you ok?"

"I'm not the one who looks like Raggedy Ann." Dean said shortly. Confused, Sam took in his appearance in the side view mirror. He lightly touched his cheek, which although causing him no pain, felt very warm. What the hell had happened?

Sam tried again. "You're bleeding."

"Must've cut it on the window. It's fine." Dean's jaw worked as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Sam's confusion grew as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Window. Sam's memories played back at him as he remembered trying to get to Dean, the apparition coming out of nowhere and placing her blistering hands on his flesh.

"You broke the window?"

Dean finally looked over at Sam. "Yeah, well, I had to come save your sorry ass. Again. The door and the window were stuck, so I broke the window and came in through the front door." Dean looked critically at himself in the rearview mirror. "Good thing chics dig scars."

Sam rubbed his hand across his forehead as Dean asked, "You ok?"

Although he felt miles away from ok, he squared his shoulders and answered, "I'm fine." He knew from experience that Dean didn't buy it, so he quickly changed the subject. "What the hell was that thing?"

Dean shook his head, bewildered. "I don't know. Did it feel like the same thing that attacked you at the main house?"

Sam considered the question. "I'm not sure. Both attacks seemed calculated, intelligent. But if it was her both times, why didn't we actually see her at the mansion? And why only go after me? She had you locked in."

Dean wished he had the answers, but instead more questions filled his head. "That scream…banshee?"

"Maybe." Sam said. He visualized the woman; the wailing and long flowing dress fit the lore, but her appearance didn't. "But banshees usually wail in sadness, in preparation for a death. She wasn't sad, she seemed furious. And her eyes," he swallowed hard, "banshees are supposed to have long flowing hair and bloodshot eyes. You saw her hair, and her eyes…they were almost completely black."

The car filled with a heavy silence as both men got lost in their thoughts. Sam frowned as he took in Dean's pale face. "Dean, you sure you're ok?"

Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to flash Sam a forced smile. "Just tired. You know, you keep interrupting my beauty sleep, and we're going to have some issues to work out."

Sam's attempt at a rebuttal was cut short as they pulled into a motel parking lot. Accepting defeat, for now, Sam grabbed their gear from the trunk as Dean went to check them in. Shivering, he pulled his jacket tighter as the wind picked up speed. He felt pretty much recovered from his ordeal, yet he was still feeling a little woozy. After making sure Dean was still preoccupied at the front desk, he slid down the side of the car and crouched, resting his fatigued head in his hands. A few deep breaths helped, and he stood back up. Picking up the bags, he headed towards the room Dean had just entered. A beam of moonlight shone through the window and settled on the bed, lighting the way for the weary man. Sam dropped the bags with a loud thump, kicked off his sneakers, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Dean's words floated over to him as Sam felt himself drift off.

"Yup. Must be some sort of insane banshee-ghost-poltergeist hybrid. That's the only reason even a dead chic would pick you over me, Sammy. Not that I'm complaining. You can keep her. But maybe next time, concentrate on finding a flesh and blood girl, that's all I'm saying." Dean booted up the laptop as he continued his rant. No way was he getting back to sleep tonight. Turning the screen so its glow wouldn't disturb Sam, Dean began his search.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't let him rest. His earlier hesitation had once again almost cost Sam his life. When he'd burst through the door and seen the creature hovering above Sam, he had frozen in place, flashing back almost twenty years earlier when a shtriga tried to drain the life out of a young Sammy. When he'd gotten his composure back, he found to his horror that the rocksalt he'd fired at the being had no effect. He didn't know what had made it retreat; it clearly had the upper hand. If it hadn't left when it did, who knows what would've happened. Dean shuddered as he remembered the crimson marks on Sam's cheeks. Luckily whatever it was doing seemed to have no lasting effect on him.

For what seemed like the hundredth time Dean got up and checked on Sam, who was sleeping soundly. Content that Sam was indeed safe and sound, Dean returned to the laptop. He'd been scouring the web for any possible indication on what they might be dealing with. But every lead he came up with turned into a dead-end.

He was especially disturbed by the fact that it was apparently impervious to rocksalt, and seemed to have an eye on his little brother. Well, here's to you, bitch. You can't have him, Dean thought as he continued his search with newfound rigor.

An hour and a half later an annoying tone rang in Dean's ear. He was concentrating so heavily on his research that it took him until the third ring to recognize the ringing of his cell phone. Scrambling, he tried to answer it before the noise roused Sam. Flipping it open, he glanced over to find Sam still fast asleep.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"_Dean, is that you? What the hell is going on? Where are you?"_ the voice on the other end of the line sounded agitated.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was so not in the mood to have this conversation. "Bill, hey. Um, Sam and I ran into some trouble at the mansion. We're actually over at the motel about a mile down the road."

"_Trouble? What kind of trouble? Did you get whatever is haunting the place?"_

"Actually, it tried to get us. Twice. Sam got attacked in the master bedroom of the mansion, and the creature showed up later at the guest house and went after us again."

Bill's voice took on a concerned tone. _"Oh God, are you two ok?"  
_

Dean automatically looked over at Sam as he answered. "Yeah, we're fine. You, uh, you might have to replace bedroom window of the guest house, though. And you'll need a new lock for the mansion's master bedroom door."

"_Fine, fine, whatever. So, what are you doing to kill this thing?"_

"We're working on that right now." Dean replied vaguely.

"_Thank goodness. I'm going to call the staff, tell them to report for work in the evening."_

"Whoa, hold on a minute. I said we're working on it. We still don't know exactly what it is we're dealing with; let alone how to stop it. We're close, but--"

"_It's a poltergeist! You said it yourself. I don't understand what the delay is!"_

'Delay!' Dean thought incredulously. It hasn't even been one full day! Though he was getting angrier with each passing moment, he struggled to keep his voice composed. "Yeah, at first it did seem like it could be a poltergeist. However, the--"

"_I should have known better than to entrust this to children. Call your father right now." _

Dean's temper began to grow, as did the volume of his voice. "Like I told you already, my father is busy. If I had any way of getting him out here, I would've already called him. Besides, Sam and I have been doing this our entire lives. Hunting is practically all we know. If there's a way to kill this thing, we'll damn well find it."

A rustling caught his attention, and he winced as he saw Sam stirring. After muttering something unintelligible, Sam rolled onto his side and was still. Not wanting to pull Sam from his healing sleep, Dean went into the bathroom to continue the conversation.

"…_Dean! Are you still there?" _Dean could all but see the vein on Bill's forehead pulsating angrily.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bathtub and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, Bill, I'm still here." he answered in a low voice. "Now, I know this situation is upsetting, but Sam and I--"

Bill broke in and cut him off. _"Upsetting? This thing nearly killed my daughter! Listen here, do you have any idea how--"_

"No, you listen! We're here to do you a favor. And that 'favor' almost cost my brother his life!" Dean took a breath. "Mr. Morgan…Bill. The best thing you can do right now is to keep everyone away from the property, and to take care of your daughter. Sam and I will not rest until this son of a bitch is toast. You have my word, we will finish this thing."

For a few long moments, the only sound Dean heard was the deep breathing from the other end of the line. Finally, Bill's voice came back. _"Just be careful. I couldn't take it if anyone else got hurt." _

Dean hung up the phone without another word. He went over to the sink and splashed some cool water onto his face. Sometimes he really hated his job. Looking into the mirror, he took in the dark circles under his eyes. Well, at least one of the Winchesters had gotten a few good hours of rest tonight. As he wiped his face with the towel, he closed his eyes and visualized his dad's face. What would he do in this situation? But the answers would not come, and his father just stared before slowly fading away, leaving Dean feeling completely abandoned.

Dean's stomach growled, reminding him that despite whatever ghoulies there were to fight in the world, doughnuts had to be conquered first. He opened the bathroom door and jumped back a step in surprise as he almost walked into his brother.

Sam's eyes were bright and alert under a mop of tousled brown hair. "Good morning, sunshine."

Dean recovered from his shock and pushed past his smiling brother and flopped down onto his own bed. Not only had he been cursed with a taller younger brother, but the damn jolly green giant was a perky morning person. "I take it you're feeling better."

Sam nodded and asked, "Who were you talking to?"

"Bill." Dean replied. "He was giving us the usual, 'Why haven't you killed the beast, and while you're at it, cured world hunger?' routine."

"Ah. I see. And from the shouting I heard, it sounds like you handled it with your usual diplomacy." Sam said sarcastically.

"Don't start with me." Dean warned. "I'm working on no sleep, thanks to you I might add…no coffee, and still no answers to our little problem."

"Gee, I'm so sorry my getting attacked ruined your evening." Sam said dryly. At his brother's glare, Sam changed his tone. "Ok, I'll grab us some breakfast while you take a shower. Then we'll hit the library and see what we can dig up on this thing."

"Good plan, except you wait here while I shower, we both grab some grub and then hit the library." Dean corrected.

Sam started to argue, but relented to his brother's orders when he saw the resolute look on his face. The look that said 'I am the older brother and you will listen to what I say, and I will kick your ass from here to Timbuktu if you mess with me.' Sullenly, he accepted his fate and grabbed the laptop, repositioning himself so he wouldn't have to see the look of triumph that crossed Dean's face.


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearly noon by the time the two Winchesters dug into their hearty breakfasts of pancakes and scrambled eggs. "Well, rocksalt doesn't work, so we're not dealing with a regular ghost." Dean said around a piece of toast.

"And I think it's safe to say we're not dealing with a poltergeist." Sam moved the laptop across the table and tapped a few keys. Pulling up a picture of the mansion's last owner he stared at it critically. "Did you notice how much it, she, looked like Monica Brooks?"

"I was too busy saving you from a getting a terminal facial to catch a good look, Sam." Dean answered.

Sam turned the computer around and pushed so that it bumped Dean's plate as he went to spear a piece of pancake. Still a bit out of sorts from his long night, Dean pointedly kept his gaze fixed on his plate and tried again for the pancake. Dean's grumble of annoyance meshed with the clink of plastic against ceramic as Sam once again pushed the computer at Dean's plate. He looked up at Sam's determined face and sat back in the booth. Holding his fork up high, he let it drop with a loud clatter into the table as he pushed his plate away.

Dean mentally compared the smiling young face on the screen to the revolting creature he'd seen standing over Sam's body. "Ok, so maybe there is a resemblance. But it's just a coincidence, Sam. Granted, she didn't look like a supermodel when Dad and I saw her, but she certainly didn't look like that thing from last night. Besides, we toasted her over a year ago. If it was her, why did she wait so long before making her presence known? And why didn't the rocksalt work?"

Sam had no answers. But he was literally saved by the bell, as the light tinkling of the antique bell hanging above the diner's front door drew their attention. The door was being held open by a young man in all black clothing, his jet black hair spiked up into a mohawk. A young woman dressed in similar attire was trying to maneuver her crutches through the narrow doorway. After a small struggle she made her way into the diner, and her companion led the way towards the back of the room.

Sam turned back around, ready to renew their debate. But Dean's attention seemed to be drawn to the newcomers. His jaw was slack as his wide green eyes followed the couple as they sat down a few booths in front of the brothers. Sam hunched his shoulder and tried to catch Dean's eye. "Dude, quit staring."

But Dean just sat there, openly gawking at the girl who sat facing him. Sam kicked Dean's leg under the table and hissed his brother's name.

Dean snapped out of his stupor and gave an angry, "Hey!" as he kicked Sam back. Both brothers rubbed their throbbing legs as Sam continued.

"What's wrong with you? It's not the first time you've seen a mohawk. In fact, I remember a certain fourteen year old coming home with a similar hairdo, and Dad being royally pissed off."

Dean hunched down in the booth, trying to hide behind Sam. "Like I told him back then, I'd lost a bet, okay? And that's not why I'm staring. That's Ashley!" he whispered loudly.

"Ashley?" he said. Then realization hit him. "Oh my gosh. _That's_ Bill's daughter?" He sneaked a peek at the spiked hair behind him, and then took in his own brother's look. "Huh."

"Yeah, well, she didn't look like that the last time I saw her." Dean said defensively. Sitting up slowly he moved his head slightly to the right to catch another glimpse. Unfortunately for him, the girl chose that moment to look up. Her look of confusion gave way to one of astonishment.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?" she exclaimed.

Sam grinned widely as he watched Dean's face redden slightly. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Dean sat up straight and feigned surprise. "Ashley! Hey, how are you?"

"Great!" she called back. She leaned in close and muttered something to her companion. The boy stood up and faced Sam and Dean. "Hey, guys, come on over! Pull up a couple chairs!" A strange look passed over Ashley's face, but before Sam could decipher its meaning, it was gone.

Sam fought back the laughter as he pretended not to see his brother's distress. "Come on, Dean. We don't want to be rude." Sam couldn't help but laugh as the desperate look on his brother's face turned into one of loathing.

Sam gave a bright smile as he and Dean sat in the proffered chairs. "Ashley, this is my brother, Sam."

Sam found it hard not to stare at the couple. Both had ghostly white faces with dark black eyeliner circling their unnaturally dark eyes. While the boy's lips had three hoop earrings in the bottom lip and one in the top, Ashley's were painted with jet black lipstick. Even their fingernails were painted black, Sam noticed, as they held hands across the table.

Ashley gave a thin smile as she introduced her boyfriend, Isaac. Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Sam asked, "How are you feeling, Ashley?"

"Good, good." She said a little nervously. "It was just a hairline fracture. The cast should come off in a month or so."

"So, Ashley," Dean swallowed, trying to get his voice to work. "You've really changed since the last time I saw you."

The laugh that bubbled out of her was infectious, and all three men broke into smiles. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. When I see pictures of how I used to look, I don't even recognize that girl anymore. I feel like this is a true reflection of my soul."

Sam just nodded his head as Dean went with his patented, "Huh."

Ashley began to play with her necklace as an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. "Did Ashley tell you how she broke her leg?" Isaac finally said.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, unsure of how to proceed. "Your dad said you fell down the stairs?" Sam ventured.

Isaac shook his head vehemently. "No way. She was attacked by a ghost!"

Ashley pulled her hand away from her boyfriend's and continued to fiddle with the silver pendant on her necklace. "Isaac, could you find the waitress? I'm really thirsty."

"Sure, babe." Isaac kissed the top of her head before leaving the table.

Ashley looked Dean square in the eye and asked, "Did my dad call you?"

"Yeah, he did." Dean nodded. "What exactly did you see?

"I, uh, I don't really remember much. It all happened so fast." Seeing the identical determination facing her, she sighed before continuing. "I was closing up for the night, my dad's been letting me help around the mansion, and as I was coming down the stairs I was pushed hard in the back. I barely got a glimpse of her before I fell."

Sam's ears perked up and he leaned in towards the girl. " 'Her?' You saw a woman?"

Ashley began to resemble a caged animal; her dark eyes looked wildly around as if trying to find rescue. "Really, I don't remember. It's all a blur."

Sam fidgeted in his seat. "But you did see something. Did she have long black hair and black eyes? Her skin pale and…" he struggled to find the right word. "withered?" he finished.

Dean's voice was low as he posed his question. "Did it look like Monica Brooks?"

"Here ya go!" All three of them jumped as Isaac reappeared with the waitress, who set down four glasses of water.

Ashley grabbed Isaac's arm and simultaneously reached for her crutches. "Hon, I'm not feeling good. We need to go. Now."

Taken aback, he looked from Sam to Dean to his girlfriend. "Ok, babe, let me give you a hand."

"Ashley, wait." Dean pleaded. "We're not done."

Positioning her crutches, she said, "It was nice to meet you, Sam. Dean, take care." And with that she hobbled away. A bewildered Isaac followed, leaving a speechless Sam and Dean behind.

Sam blinked at Dean. "Huh."

Dean nodded, equally baffled. "Yeah. Huh."


	9. Chapter 9

"So, are you finally ready to accept the fact that we're hunting the ghost of Monica Brooks? That you and Dad missed something?" Sam asked.

Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. The thoughts swirling around in his head were spinning as fast as the tires on the black car. He knew Sam was waiting for an answer, but the truth was, for once Dean was at a loss for words. So, like any good Winchester does when he's stuck in a conversation not to his liking, he changed the subject.

"The only thing missing is the damn library. I know it's around here somewhere. Check the map again." To Dean's relief the next sound he heard was the rustling of paper as Sam pinpointed their location.

"We're only about five blocks away. Make a left twostreets down." After a brief pause, he continued. "What exactly are you planning on researching when we get there?"

Dean wanted to say the words, but they just wouldn't come. Maybe it was because he didn't want to admit that he was wrong. More likely it was because he didn't want his little brother to be right. Again. No, deep down he knew the real reason he was loathe to say the woman's name. If he accepted the fact that they were chasing the spirit of Monica Brooks, he was also going to have to recognize that he and his father had screwed up. Dean's pride was barely able to accept it when he was wrong, but this time the consequences were grim. Three innocent people had been attacked, one badly injured, all because they had missed something. But what?

Sam's voice cut through his thoughts, and he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over. "What?"

Sam narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You ok?"

Dean worked to relax his posture as he answered. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

As he pulled into the Harborview Public Library parking lot he became aware of slightly agitated movements coming from Sam, who had one hand on his seatbelt, the other drumming impatiently on his thigh. Shaking his head, Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, you are such an incredible dork." Knowing Sam was itching to get inside, Dean slowly drove around the lot looking for a parking space.

"Dean, you just passed two spots. What're you doing?"

"They were a little too tight. She needs room to breathe, Sammy." Ah yes, nothing calms the ol' nerves like screwing with one's baby brother, Dean laughed to himself as his face bore a mask of concentration.

" 'She' is just a car, Dean." Sam said, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"Hey! Do I have to go into this with you again?" Dean pointed to a small red four door sedan, "That is 'just a car,' okay? This is--"

Sam buried his face in his hands. "Oh please, not again."

Dean kept his face stoic as he made another lap around the parking lot. "Hey, show some respect or your ass is walking."

Sam's head shot up. "Oh please! You haven't given me more than two minutes to myself since we left Minnesota. Now park the damn car so we can get inside and get to work!"

Dean slowed down and turned on the turn signal,seeming readyto pull into an open spot. "Finally!" Sam exclaimed in relief.

In the SUV behind the black Chevy Impala, a young woman and her son sat waiting for the car to turn into the parking space. But after a few seconds, the car began to inch forward as the turn signal stopped blinking.Mother and sonboth jumped, startled as a loud voice cut through the windows of both cars. "DEAN!"

An hour and a half later, Dean pushed his chair back from the library table with a growl. "This is the same crap I looked at last time. If there was something here, I would have found it already."

Sam sighed and nodded. They had pored over every newspaper article, every local history book, but had come up with nothing. Sam closed the book with a loud thump and turned to Dean. "Ok, so let's start at the beginning. Did Monica have any children, any relatives?"

"Nope. Only child, both parents dead, never married, no kids." Dean answered shortly.

"Ok." Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "What about the guy who killed her? The burglar?"

"Nope". Dean shook his head. "Turned himself in two days after, died in prison eight years later."

Sam consulted his notes. "So, Monica died in 1987. It sits abandoned until the town turns it into a historical site in 1996, and Bill Morgan is appointed head of operations. Reports of activity begin in 1998 when the mansion is opened to the public."

"Just the usual stuff." Dean chimed in. "Doors opening and closing on their own, unexplained lights and noises. Nothing harmful. In fact, Bill said tourism began to rise as news of the haunted mansion began to circulate."

Sam brow furrowed in confusion. "So why bring you and Dad in? Did the haunting turn violent?"

Dean got up from the table and began pacing. "Actually, it was because of his daughter. The older Ashley got, the more obsessed she became with the ghost. Bill said she spent nearly every waking moment in the mansion, searching for the ghost and trying to communicate with it. She had lost most of her friends, and her grades were slipping. He said it seemed to dominate her life."

"She and Dad must have had a lot to talk about." Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean ignored the comment and continued. "He went so far as to forbid her from going there, but she kept sneaking in. He was one step away from packing up and moving as far from Harborview as possible. He'd been talking with Pastor Jim for advice; Pastor Jim gave him Dad's number."

Sam turned his attention to the newspaper clippings spread out on the table. Scanning the lengthy obituary, Sam asked, "Monica was a psychic, right? Was she into anything supernatural? Black arts, anything like that?"

Dean sat back down and grabbed an article about the break-in. "Actually, just the opposite. It seems like everything she did was to fit in, to be normal. She went to church every Sunday, helped with bake sales, that kind of stuff. She did give readings to the locals, but that was about it. I'm telling you, Sam, I have no idea why she's still here."

After glancing over the article for what seemed like the hundredth time, he let it flutter back onto the table.

Sam felt Dean's words float past him as the smiling face of Monica stared up at him from the newspaper. Although in black and white, her eyes still seemed to pierce right through him, holding him in place. Sam was oblivious to Dean's hand waving in front of his face as he sat fixated on the picture. Sam gasped in surprise as a sharp pain burst on his upper arm. Finally able to drag his gaze away from the newspaper, he looked up at Dean's concerned face.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Dean exclaimed, giving his brother a good once over. He felt a little guilty about the jab he'd leveled on his brother's arm, but luckily it had seemed to bring Sam out of his trance.

Sam swallowed hard, hoping he looked better than he felt. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Did you just have a, uh, you know…a vision?" Dean said the word as if it were too painful to even say.

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?" But even as Sam spoke the words, he felt a growing sense of trepidation, almost a feeling of being trapped.

"Oh, I don't know, Sam. Maybe it's because you just zoned out for almost three minutes, and your cheeks are flushed. You sure you're ok?" The sarcasm Dean tried injecting in his voice did not mask the obvious concern that was present.

Sam raised a hand to his cheek and was surprised at the warmth he felt. "We should go back to the mansion." He didn't know where the words came from, but as they echoed through his thoughts, his world constricted to that one idea.

Dean sat back in his chair, taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation. "Yeah, we will, once we find out how to get rid of this thing. Of Monica." he finally permitted himself to say the words.

But Sam didn't seem to notice the acknowledgment. "No, I mean now. We need to go back there now."

Dean took a moment to study Sam before answering. His brother sat rigidly in his chair, his muscles so tense he was almost trembling. His eyes had a glassy look to them, and his cheeks were still bright red. "Sam." No response. "Sam!"

Sam snapped his head around, his fists clenched. He stood up so suddenly that the chair nearly tipped over. Without another word, he began walking towards the front entrance.

Dean leapt up and got in front of Sam, momentarily blocking his path. "Whoa, where are you running off to, Rain Man?"

Even as Sam began to give the answer Dean knew was coming, Dean grabbed hisshoulders and forced him to look into his face. "Ok, Sammy, we'll go to the mansion. But first we need to stop and grab some food. We can't go ghostbusting on an empty stomach now, can we?"

Sam didn't respond to Dean's weak attempt at humor; just nodded his head slowly and allowed himself to be led out of the library.

The irony of his last statement wasn't lost on Dean as he steered Sam towards the car. The lure of food seemed to have deterred Sam for the moment, although Dean's stomach was so unsettled that he doubted he could eat anything. But his ruse had bought him time. Time to figure out what the hell was wrong with his little brother.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean steered the car down another side street, using the momentary pause at the stop sign to fiddle with the radio. Finding a particularly obnoxious song, he cranked the volume up to a nearly deafening volume, then turned to see what, if any reaction he would get. But Sam just sat there staring straight ahead, as he had been for the last half hour.

Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Dammit, Sam." he muttered as he continued slowly down the street. Rolling down the window, he breathed in the cool air and tried clearing his head. Since leaving the library he'd tried everythinghe could think of, including a few well placed pinches,to snap Sam out of the daze he was in. Sam's lack of a response to the word _Christo_ ruled out possession. That was something, at least. Dean was beginning to wonder if Sam had fallen ill; his cheeks were still very flushed, and that would possibly explain why he seemed so out of it.

As Dean looked critically at Sam's face, an idea began to form. Pulling over to the side of the road, he hopped out and grabbed a bottle of holy water from the trunk. He thought back to the attack in the guest house, when the creature…Monica, he corrected himself, straddled Sam, her hands pressed upon his face.

"That bitch did something to you, didn't she, Sammy." he mumbled as he opened the passenger door. Crouching next to the seat, Dean wet his handkerchief with the holy water and gently pressed it to his brother's cheek. Sam started at the sensation and took in a shuddering breath. Encouraged, Dean ran the cloth against Sam's other cheek, then jumped back as Sam gasped loudly, his back arching as his eyes darted around frantically.

Dean ducked in front of Sam, grabbing his shoulder and saying his name in a stern voice. "Sam…Sam, look at me. You're ok, just focus. Come on, dude, just breathe."

Sam seemed to get himself under control, and he weakly removed his brother's grip from his shoulder. Concerned that Sam still hadn't spoken, Dean continued. "Do you remember what happened?"

Sam's eyes took in the surroundings before sliding back to Dean. "We were in the library."

"That's good. And…?" Dean prodded.

"We were on our way to the mansion. Why am I wet? Hey, did you pinch my arm?" Sam rolled up his sleeve, twisting his arm to get a better look at the three red welts near his elbow.

Dean squirmed a bit uncomfortably. He searched his brain for a glib remark, something to mask his worry. "Yeah, well, next time you decide to imitate a catatonic mannequin I'll just sell you to the nearest American Eagle, how 'bout that?"

Sam looked bewildered. "How can a mannequin be catatonic? It's not alive…"

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Dude! Focus! Ok, this is just a theory, but I think Monica did something to you back at the guest house. When she grabbed your face, what do you remember?"

Sam's thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The guest house….Monica….the mansion. The mansion. His eyes widened. "Dean, we need to go back to the mansion!"

Here we go again, Dean thought to himself. "Why, Sam? Why do we need to go to the mansion?"

"Because," Sam broke off. He could not think of a valid reason. He just knew that they had to go. Now. "We just do."

Dean set his jaw. "We're not going anywhere near that place until we figure out what the hell is going on with you."

"Nothing's going on with me, I'm fine! But we need to head back there right away." Sam's restlessness grew with each passing second. He couldn't properly verbalize what he was feeling to his brother. He just knew in his gut, in his soul that they had to get moving.

"Well then, you'd better start walking, cause I am not taking you there." Dean headed back over to his side of the car. The holy water had provided a temporary fix, but whatever hold Monica seemed to have on Sam was strong, and Dean was at a loss on how to break it. He was about to consult the journal when Sam spoke.

"Get out."

Dean draped his arm over the steering wheel and turned to a seething Sam. "What did you say?"

"Either start driving, or get out."

Dean held up his hands in a peaceful manner. "Sure, Sam. Let's go grab a bite to eat. Remember, that was the original plan? We'll grab a bite, sort things out, and then maybe we can head over to the mansion."

Sam's temper had reached its boiling point. What was Dean's problem? Why couldn't he see they had to go there now? Sam felt like every cloud, every tree, every blade of grass was pointing the way to the mansion, as if guiding him there. He couldn't waste time arguing with his brother. If Dean didn't want to go, fine. He'd go without him.

Sam got out of the car and slammed the door with every ounce of strength he had, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction as he heard Dean's angry cries of protest. A few seconds later Sam heard another door shut, albeit a lot lighter, followed by heavy footsteps on the pavement.

"Sam, get back in the car, now!" Dean shouted.

Sam heard the footsteps grow louder as Dean began to catch up. Sam waited a moment, then spun around and struck out his fist, hitting Dean square on the jaw and knocking him to the ground. Dean sat up slowly; the shocked look on his face was mirrored in Sam's as he looked up at him.

Had he really just hit his brother? What was going on? Sam began to reach down to help him up when Dean leapt to his feet and grabbed Sam's shirt in both fists, pushing him up against a tree.

"Sam, you get your ass back in that car now or I swear I will tie you up and throw you in the damn trunk!"

Sam felt the world around him narrow down to justone fact. He had to get back to the mansion; it felt as if his life depended on it. Why would this man, his own flesh and blood keep him from that? No, he couldn't let Dean stop him. Sam brought his arms up swiftly and broke Dean's hold.

"I'm going, Dean, with or without you." Sam tried pushing past Dean, who in turn grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it back behind his back.

"Sorry, kid, I can't let you do that."

Using the very same move Dean had taught him when they were teenagers, Sam spun out of his grip and caught him with a hard left hook. Dean fell to the ground and lay still. Sam grabbedhim and dragged him off of the pavement and laid him on the grass. With a final look at his unconscious brother, Sam got into the car and sped away.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean first became aware of a dull throbbing pain in his jaw which was accompanied by tiny droplets of water landing on his face. As he tried to get his thoughts in order, the water went away, only to come back a few seconds later. Forcing his eyes open, he struggled into a sitting position and started to look around. As he turned to the right, the water hit him full in the face. Sputtering, Dean lurched to his feet, wiping his face with his sleeve. Dean darted off the lawn as the sprinkler made its way towards him again.

Rubbing his aching jaw, Dean took a second to wallow in self pity. First he gets knocked out and left on the lawn like yesterday's trash, and then the sprinkler kicks him when he's down. Envisioning the water spots that were sure to be covering his car, Dean walked a few steps towards the street and stopped.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled in frustration. Sam had stolen his car. Furious that he let himself get bested by his little brother, Dean tried to remind himself that Sam was apparently under some kind of enchantment. Apparently it was one that gave him great speed and strength, for that would be the only way Sam would have any chanceof beating him.

Dean checked his watch, relieved to see that he'd only been out cold for five minutes. Still, that was plenty of time for Sam to get into a heap of trouble. Which meant it was once again up to him, Dean the underappreciated, overworked knight in dull leather to ride to the rescue.

As he looked around the deserted neighborhood for a car to steal, a miserable sigh escaped his lips. It seemed that he was going to have to ride to the rescue in a small grey minivan.

"Sam, you are so going to pay for this." he seethed as he worked to start the vehicle. He just hoped he could get to his little brother in time.

……………………………………………………………………

Sam struggled to keep the car under the speed limit as he made his way back to the main roads. The last thing he needed were the cops keeping him from his destination. A twinge of guilt hit him as he recalled pulling his unconscious brother onto the grass. Dean had left him no choice, he tried to rationalize. Dean seemed to think that just because he had been living on the earth four years longer than Sam that he knew everything. Well, sorry big brother, he thought to himself. Sometimes you are wrong.

Sam never felt more sure of himself as he reached the halfway mark to the mansion. He was on his way to end this thing. Still, there was a part of his mind that kept trying to poke through, like a weed amongst the grass. What was he going to do when he got there? How was he going to get rid of the spirit? What if he got attacked again? Thanks to a finely placed left hook he was on his own. And why was he so obsessed with heading to the mansion right away, without the answers to these questions? Dean was supposed to be the headstrong impulsive one, whereas Sam was the thoughtful planner. Something else must be at play here.

But every time Sam would start to give in to these thoughts, a renewed sense of purpose would overtake him, urging him onward. His cheeks flushed, Sam's grip on the steering wheel tightened as the mansion loomed in the distance, getting closer with every second.

"Almost there." He muttered. "Almost there."

……………………………………………….

Dean managed to get the stolen minivan on the road without anyone noticing. Maybe things were starting to look up. Maybe Sam had come to his senses, and was on his way backto apologize for knocking him out and stealing his damn car. Yeah, right, Dean snorted as he pushed harder on the gas pedal. Whatever had a hold on Sam's mind was powerful, and from what Dean could tell the holy water had only served to shove Sam out of his fog and further into his purpose. But why was he being pushed towards the mansion? Dean hated being in the dark, especially when it concerned the wellbeing of his baby brother.

Dean pulled out his cell phone and scrolled down till he found Sam's number. Sam's face smiled up at him from the screen. Knowing that he probably wouldn't even answer, Dean nonetheless hit the send button and held his breath. After the fourth ring Dean heard the telltale click, followed by low breathing.

"Sam? Sam, where are you? Sam…" The rest of Dean's words were drowned out by the dial tone. In his frustration Dean nearly threw the phone onto the floor, but at the last second he scrolled further down the list until he found his Dad's entry. He'd held off calling long enough. He knew deep down that this phone call would be as fruitless as the last one, but there was always the chance his father might answer. Several seconds later found the cell phone on the floor and Dean's fist hitting the dashboard in frustration. Well, now it was official: Dean was in this alone.

Dean took the next corner with the gas pedal firmly pressed against the floor. He gritted his teeth as the minivan went up on two wheels for a split second before crashing back onto the road. A horrible image of Sam driving his baby just as recklessly flashed through his mind, and Dean leaned his head back against the headrest and let all his frustrations, his worry, and his anger out in a bellow that seemed to come from the depths of his being. His head and lungs clear, Dean set forth to save his two most beloved charges…his car and his brother.

………………………………..

The ringing of his cell phone pulled Sam's focus away from the view of the mansion that was quickly coming up on his right. He didn't have to look at the caller id to know who would be on the other end. He hit the answer button and listened to his frantic brother's voice calling to him.Dean's cries fell on deaf ears as Sam slowly lowered the phone and hung up. Sam pulled the car to a stop in front of the historic mansion. A wave of relief rolled over him as he gazed at the building. He was here. Finally.

Sam got out the car and leaned on the open door, his eyes scouring the outside of the mansion, for what he didn't quite know. A strong wind came up from behind him, and Sam watched as the mansion's double doors slowly swung open as if beckoning him inside. The rational part of his mind screamed at Sam to go and grab a gun out of the trunk. As Sam headed towards the rear of the car the wind propelled him forwards, pushing the thought away and moving him back to the mansion.

Sam climbed the steps slowly, the soft florescent light bathing him in its glow as he stood just inside the doorway. Sam was hit with a sense of duality as he continued into the foyer, as if something desperately wanted him here, and yet something else wished him harm. Sam stood facing the grand staircase while the doors quietly shut behind him.

As Sam slowlymade his way further into the mansion, a stark realization hit him. Now that he had finally reached his destination, he had no clue what he was going to do. His gut instinct had led him here, but now those same instincts began to convey a different message; perhaps this wasn't such a bright idea. Shaking it off, he walked up the stairs, his sneakers barely making a sound against the cold marble. As he gazed up at the portrait of Monica Brooks, a chill went down his spine. With some difficulty, Sam tore his eyes away and continued up the staircase.

Sam decided that a room by room search would be his best bet, so he tried the first door he came to. Opening the door cautiously, he found himself in what appeared to be a guest bedroom. A large poster bed was neatly made up against the wall, while a large sofa was in the far corner. An antique dresser stood opposite from where Sam was standing, and he paused as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The paleness of his complexion was broken by the dark circles under his eyes and his ruddy cheeks. Man, he looked like hell.

Sam's reflection seemed to shimmer as the mirror rippled slightly. Sam stood transfixed as the mirror began to vibrate. A small crack appeared in the upper left corner, and gradually began to snake its way down. The longer the crack grew, the faster Sam's heart pounded, and he instinctively took a few steps back. He threw his arms up to shield his face and dove to the floor just as the mirror shattered outward, sending a million tiny daggers his way.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam warily raised his head, hoping his efforts wouldn't be met by a piece of mirror through the eye. Crawling out of the room wasn't an option; he was surrounded by a sea of broken glass. Moving as slowly as an old man, he rose to his feet as glass fell off of him, clattering to the floor. Once back in the hallway, he slammed the door shut and allowed himself to take a deep breath. Sam ran his hands through his tousled hair, dislodging the tiny shards of glass that still remained.

Sam's knees suddenly felt like rubber, and he leaned up against the wall for support. What the hell was wrong with him? Going to a place where he had been attacked twice, without weapons or backup? He thought of Dean, lying out cold on the grass. The adrenaline coursing through his system coupled with the concern for his brother finally drove away the fog that had settled over his brain, and he made for the stairs. He would go find Dean, hopefully avoid a well deserved ass-kicking, and together they would work to get rid of this evil for good.

As Sam began his descent, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. One hand gripping the railing, he whipped his head around, confident he would see the creature from the previous night. Although no one was there, the feeling of being watched only intensified. Trying not to let his fear get the better of him, Sam continued down the steps. Without warning he felt something strike him across his shoulder blades, and Sam fell forward a few steps. He managed to stop his fall by latching onto the railing with both hands, his knuckles white with the effort. Sam stood there, waiting for the next attack to commence. When a few moments passed without incident, he methodically made his way step by step down to the first landing.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he leaned up against the wall. He felt like he had just run a marathon. And why was it so hot all of a sudden? Knowing he still had one more flight of stairs to go before escaping, he braced himself and pushed off of the safety of the wall. As he reached the fourth stair another blow hit him, this time on the lower back. Lurching forward, his balance and death grip on the railing saved him from a nasty fall. Before he could continue his descent something hit the back of his knees and his back simultaneously, and Sam finally lost the battle and tumbled down the long flight of stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom.

The marble floor was blessedly cold against Sam's cheek as he lay still, the only sound his ragged breathing. He'd survived his little tumble with his brain still in his skull; however the rest of his body was still in question. He set about testing each of his limbs, one at a time. Except for some bruises, everything seemed to be in working order. Placing his palms on the floor, he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, a pained moan escaping his lips as his battered ribs screamed at him. Well, perhaps there was some damage after all. He felt, with some relief, that they were only bruised not broken. After getting tossed against as many walls as he had been in his lifetime, Sam was getting pretty good at making self diagnoses.

A jolt hit him as he remembered the blows he'd received before falling, and he whipped his head around. The mansion remained eerily calm, which was somehow more unsettling. Well, he'd made it down the stairs, albeit not exactly the way he'd planned. Now, to get to the door and go find Dean.

One arm wrapped protectively around his sore ribs, Sam began to get to his feet. As he raised himself to his full height, he stumbled backwards in shock as a being materialized in front of him. Standing before him was the spirit of Monica Brooks, her long black dress swirling about despite the lack of wind. Her azure eyes held an almost pleading look as she reached out a hand towards him. With the apparition blocking his escape, Sam turned and ran towards the office he and Dean had met Bill Morgan in. But before he could get inside, the door slammed shut.

Sam frantically searched for another way out, a weapon, anything that might save him. Sam began to run towards the staircase, skidding to a halt as the spirit moved in front of him, again blocking his path. In a flash she launched herself at him, grasping his head in her gnarled hands. Sam yelled as he tried breaking her hold, but he could not break free. A familiar pain began to grow behind his eyes as he stared into the intense eyes of his foe. The room began to shimmer as the vision took hold.

Random flashes assaulted Sam's brain as Monica tightened her hold on Sam's mind. _A masked man racing down the hall…struggling, being pushed down the stairs…darkness. A voice, calling out…young girl, blonde hair. Two men bound by blood, danger! Fire, agony, then serenity…light, happiness. The voice, the child's voice calling out again, beckoning…_

Sam screamed as the pain grew; strange images continued to flood his mind as he stood helpless to stop them. _The voice, calling, being pulled from the place of peace…torn away, falling. Evil, oh God, such evil…another being, cruel and malicious, evil…the struggle…_

Sam didn't know how much more he could take. He'd never felt pain this intense before. Sam had no doubt if he didn't break the link soon she would destroy his mind, if not his very existence.

……………………………………..

Dean leapt from the stolen minivan before the engine had completely quieted. Sprinting over to his car, he breathed a sigh of relief at finding it unharmed. He hoped his brother would be in the same condition. Dean grabbed two pistols, one he put in the waistband of his jeans, and slid a vial of holy water into his pocket.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he yanked furiously at the locked front door, then slammed his fist against it in frustration. Racing back to the car, hetraded the extra pistol for theaxe in the trunk. "Déjà vu, Sammy." he muttered as he began hacking away at the door. Once again Sam was locked in a house with an angry spirit, and Dean had to destroy yet another door to get to him.

"I swear…" _thwack! _"I'm gonna make that kid…"_ thwack! _"…pay me a hundred bucks…"_ thwack! _"…for every…" _thwack! _"…damn…"_ thwack! _"…rescue!" Dean shouted the last word in triumph as he broke through. Tossing the axe to the side, he climbed through the hole.

The butterflies in his stomach turned into alligators as he took in the scene before him. The old hag had her back to him and her fingers tangled in Sam's long brown hair. Sam's mouth hung slack; his eyes were nearly shut from the pain he was obviously in.

Deanpulled outthe pistol and looked at it for a moment before tucking it in the back of his pants. He couldn't risk taking the shot and possibly wounding his brother.

"Hey!" he yelled as he charged forward. Removing one hand from Sam's head, Monica caught Dean by the throat and tossed him back against the splintered door. Dean fell through the wood and onto the landing; blood from a gash on his forehead already running into his eyes. Picking up the axe, he wiped the brow with his sleeve and stepped through the door.

With an enraged yell, Dean raced over and slammed the axe into his opponent's back, bellowing a victorious, "Yeah!" as it stuck fast in her back. But a pained scream was all that came from his actions as Monica continued her mental assault on Sam.

Completely out of ideas, Dean flashed back to his youth when his father made him learn an ancient Hebrew prayer by repeating it over and over. Grasping at straws, Dean began to recite the prayer as he took out the vial of holy water. The water sizzled as it landed on Monica's back. Dean covered his ears as her piercing screech echoed in the vast space. Twirling around, her bright blue eyes slowly turned black as she hissed at him. Then, in an instant she was gone, a wisp of smoke hovering where she had just been.

Dean dropped to his knees and placed a trembling hand on his brother's neck. Feeling the steady pulse, he sent a silent prayer to whoever may have been listening. Dean lightly slapped Sam on the cheeks. "Sam. Come on, Sam, time to wake up." Frustration mingled with worry as Dean slapped a little harder. "Sam, come on! We've gotta get out of here."

Wanting to get the both of them out of there as soon as possible, Dean began lifting Sam over his shoulder. He grimaced as his sore body took on the weight of his taller baby brother. Dean tucked the vial of holy water back into his pocket and made his way out into the fading sunlight.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean had managed to get Sam into the motel room without anyone noticing. Now he was in the all too familiar waiting game to see what shape Sam would be in when he woke up. If he woke up, he thought grimly. Dean shook his head. "No. Sam will be fine." Somehow saying the words out loud gave him some comfort, and he got up to check on his brother again.

They'd been back for nearly two hours, and Sam hadn't shown any signs of coming around. His breathing was steady, his pulse strong. Dean took some solace in that. He removed the washcloth from Sam's forehead and went into the bathroom. After splashing some cool water on his face, being mindful of the fresh bandage, he let the washcloth soak.

Dean lowered the toilet seat lid and sat down, allowing himself to give in to the weariness for a moment. God, he was tired. Tired of losing Sam, of him getting hurt. Hell, of the both of them getting hurt. But mostly he was tired of worrying. Would Sam ever truly get over the loss of Jessica; would he ever forgive himself? What do these newfound visions hold for him? Will he be able to handle the stress and the pain? Dean's biggest concern was about himself. How can he possibly keep his little brother safe from all of these things? He had no idea how to save him from the emotional dangers, and lately the physical ones seemed to get the better of him as well.

Dean got up and retrieved the washcloth, his anger draining like the water in the sink. He was too tired to even keep up his fury. Dean placed the washcloth back on Sam's head, and resumed his position in the chair next to his bed. Though he made a vow to keep watch until Sam regained consciousness, he fell victim to his own fatigue and was soon fast asleep.

Dean's empty stomach awoke first, sending out an irate rumbling that pulled him from his deep slumber. Absentmindedly rubbing his middle, he shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and forced his eyes open. Seeing the empty bed before him, his eyes continued to widen until they practically popped out of his skull. "Sam?" he yelled.

"Be right out!" came the muffled reply from the bathroom. Dean shook his head in disbelief. The kid was unbelievable! He was all set to go barging in when the door opened, and a still pale but otherwise unharmed Sam came out of the bathroom.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Sam asked as he dried his hair with a towel.

"Are you freakin' kidding me? You go all Exorcist on me, knock me out, steal my car, get attacked _again_, and all you can say is, 'Hey, how are you feeling?'" Dean's hoarse voice cracked on the last word, which only furthered his aggravation.

"You look like hell." Sam said simply as he pointed to his own cheek.

Dean's hand went up to the bruise on his cheekbone. "First of all, I never look like hell. Second of all, let's not forget where this little beauty mark came from."

Sam had the good grace to look embarrassed as he cast his eyes downward. "Yeah, um, sorry about that."

Dean sighed. "Are you ok?"

Sam's eyes flitted upwards for a brief moment. "Yeah, I'm good."

"What exactly happened to you last night? We're not going to have a repeat of the events from the Roosevelt Asylum, are we?" he asked guardedly.

Sam squirmed a little as he nervously twisted the damp towel. The guilt he had felt upon waking and taking in his brother's battered appearance was almost as great as on that fateful day in Rockford. In a strange way, he almost wished he had some lingering effects from the previous night. But when Sam had opened his eyes he'd felt good. No, better than good. He not only felt completely refreshed and rested, but he finally had the answers they were seeking.

"Dean, I'm fine, ok? Whatever hold she had on me, it's gone now. She just needed to get me back to the mansion. She needed to connect with me."

"Connect with you." Dean repeated sardonically.

Sam sat down on the bed, struggling to find the right words when he himself wasn't even sure what had happened. "When she grabbed me last night, it felt like I was having a vision. The pain was so intense. Only I think it was her. Monica. Somehow she was showing me images from her life…and death."

Dean shifted in his seat, trying not to let his uneasiness show. Sam's visions still creeped him out a little, but he tried his best not to show it. He nodded for Sam to continue.

Sam got up and began walking around the room. "It was sort of like with Max; I was seeing things through her eyes. I even saw you and Dad when you came here last year."

Dean's heart began to pound in his chest as he struggled to keep his face level. It always seemed to come back to that. They had screwed up.

"You didn't screw up, Dean." Dean scowled. He hated that his little brother could read him so well. "You did vanquish her. It was something else. Someone brought her back." Sam stopped pacing as Dean stood up, his hands out.

"Whoa, whoa. What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Except she messed up." Sam said excitedly as if he hadn't even heard Dean's question. "Something else came back, too."

Dean's frustration was evident as he tried to follow along. "Who messed up? You're not making any sense."

Sam blew out a long breath. Forcing himself to speak slower, he mentally backed up. "When you and Dad burnt Monica's bones, she was set free. The house was clear. But someone brought her back...cast a spell, I think. Except something went wrong, and something evil tagged along."

Dean's relief was palpable. He wasn't responsible after all. He hadn't failed, but more importantly, neither had his father. Now, if he could just figure out what the hell Sam was talking about.

"Who cast a spell? Some kind of witch?"

"No, no, it was…" Breaking off, he sat in the seat Dean had vacated. "I don't know who it was. The visions, the memories, I guess, were fuzzy. Hazy, like looking through a glass of water. But it felt like Monica knew her, somehow." Sam had felt his own sense of familiarity within himself when he saw the blonde girl, but didn't know why.

"What about the thing that came back with her? What is it, some kind of hitchhiking monster?" A random image of a snarling hairy creature showing a little leg on the side of a road flew into his mind, and a laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. Getting his laughter under control, he uttered a not quite sincere apology, and motioned for Sam to continue.

"It felt like a demon." Sam said, ignoring his brother. "I think somehow Monica's keeping it at bay; it's a prisoner as long as she's there. But the longer they inhabit the same space the weaker she gets. It was the demon that attacked me at the mansion, not Monica."

"But it was her in the guest house that night." Dean pointed out. The pieces of the puzzle began to come together as he connected the events of the last few days. "She wasn't trying to hurt you, she was trying to warn you. She must have sensed that you had that whole psychic thing going on."

Sam nodded his agreement. "She knew she couldn't contain it for much longer. She was calling out for help."

"Did she give any hints about how to get rid of it?

"No. It was just images; feelings."

Dean stood up, eager to get moving. "Ok, so I'm thinking exorcism. After we grab some breakfast, of course."

Sam wasn't so sure. "I don't know, Dean. We've never dealt with something like this before. What if we just make things worse?"

"How much worse could they get, Sam? We've got a boomerang ghost with a demon for a sidekick."

Sam slammed his fist onto his thigh in frustration. "We need to talk to the girl. The one who brought her back. If we can figure out which spell she used, it might tell us how to send it back. I just can't make out who it is."

Both brothers sat in silence as they wracked their brains for the key to unlocking the final mystery. Dean went slightly pale as he slowly faced Sam. "This girl, what did she look like?"

"I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you couldn't really see her." Dean interrupted. "What exactly did you see?"

Sam closed his eyes as he tried to recall the images. "It was a young girl. I couldn't see her face, but she had long blonde hair. It was as if Monica knew her, but didn't really know her." His words weren't making sense, even to himself. He knew what he had seen, had felt, he just couldn't properly articulate it. "I don't know."

Dean just sat there, staring off into space. The words "long blonde hair" echoed over and over in his mind. How could he have been so stupid! It all made sense. Sam's voice brought him out of his stupor. Swallowing, he forced the words out. "It was Ashley. Ashley Morgan."


	14. Chapter 14

"Ashley?" Sam tried visualizing the young girl they had met at the diner. Replace the long dark hair with soft blonde tresses…Sam gasped as the fuzzy picture in his mind became clear. "Wow."

"I don't get it." Dean said mostly to himself. "Why would she do it? How would she do it?" He still recalled the seemingly innocent teenager who kept sneaking glances at him when she though he wasn't looking. Sure, she had seemed a bit upset at times, but he had assumed that was due to her father keeping her away from the mansion. Now he began to wonder if there had been more to these looks.

"I guess there's only one person who can answer that question." Sam said.

"You're right. Let's go." Dean said as he grabbed his jacket.

Sam held up a hand. "Hold on a second. Why don't you go and find out exactly what she did, and I'll stay here and get everything ready."

Dean arched his eyebrow in surprise. "You'll do what now?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I just figured Ashley might be more open discussing it with you. I'm basically a stranger to her; you might get more accomplished without me. And I can start getting the supplies ready, you know…the holy water, the readings, and um…"

Sam squirmed under Dean's intense gaze as the elder's eyes seemed to see right through him. "What's this really about, Sam?"

Sam had been both anticipating and dreading this conversation. He knew it wouldn't be easy, especially given the events of the previous night, but they'd been avoiding things long enough. Sam chose his next words carefully.

"I get that the last few weeks have been really tough on you. I do, but you haven't given me a moment alone since we left Minnesota. I appreciate you looking out for me, but we can get more accomplished if we split up. The quicker we finish up here, the quicker we can get out of this town." Sam played on Dean's wanderlust, hoping to defuse the argument before it even began.

"Oh gee, Sam, I'm so sorry I've inconvienced you!" Dean exclaimed earnestly. "Let's hurry and get to the next town so you can get kidnapped, attacked, or possessed." Dean's eyes narrowed on the last word.

Sam opened his mouth to argue that technically, he wasn't possessed yesterday. But seeing the dark look Dean was sending his way, he decided that probably wouldn't be his brightest move.

"Look, I'm sorry for all that I've put you through, ok? It wasn't exactly my choice to get beat up and taken by some country hicks, but it happened. And as for the other stuff, well, that's bound to happen in our line of work." Sam rationalized.

"I know that, Sam!" Dean spat angrily. He hated being patronized, although Sam spoke the truth. Dean knew the consequences they faced from the life that they choose. Or rather, the life that had chosen them. Hell, he himself had almost died a couple months ago. But that didn't matter. He was the older brother; it was his birthright to watch over and protect his little brother. He could barely accept the fact that he had no control over the supernatural things that were out there in the dark, but he had taken for granted that human beings could be even more terrible foes.

"If I had just left when you did, been in the parking lot with you…" Dean broke off as Sam took a few steps towards him.

"What, Dean? You think you could have prevented it from happening?"

Dean also stepped forward so that the brothers were only a few feet apart. "Yes! Hell yeah! I could've stopped them! Beat the living crap out of them! If I had been there--"

"If you had been there," Sam interrupted, "they might have taken you, too."

"Oh, please." Dean scoffed angrily.

"You think you could have fought them off? Come on, you couldn't even handle that little girl!"

_Oh crap. _ As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam knew he was in trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was to pick a fight with his brother, but the words were out there, and no apology was going to help.

Dean wanted desperately to make a grand exit; to storm off and slam the door so hard it would fall off the hinges and crush the painful words Sam had just spoken. The guilty look that flashed across Sam's face pushed his anger into overdrive, and he spun around and kicked over the chair.

The silence was thick as the two Winchesters struggled to get a handle on their emotions. Sam felt horrible. Sam knew that Dean's anger wasn't directed at him. Dean blamed himself for every bad thing that happened to Sam; he had ever since he'd carried a six month old Sam out of their burning home. Dean was always going to be overprotective of him; Sam figured he should just learn to accept that and move on. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Dean, look. We're a team…one hell of a team, as you said. You've always had my back; don't think I don't know that. It's just…" Sam broke off, unsure what he wanted to say. Why was this so hard? "If we spend the rest of our lives joined at the hip, we're gonna go crazy. Besides, you're going to have an awfully hard time getting chics with your little brother always hanging around."

A small smile ghosted Dean's lips as he felt his bitterness slowly ebb. Using humor to diffuse a bad situation was a tactic he usually used; it felt weird having the tables turned. Besides, Sam did have a point. After all, the kid was twenty-three years old and had certainly proved his worth time and again, saving Dean's own life many times. He remembered how irritated he got at Sam during his small but potent bout with heart disease. Never having a moment to himself, Sam always trying to help him do everything. Well, he thought to himself, I guess I know where he got that instinct from.

Dean used his hand to wipe the grin off his face and turned to face Sam. Though his face was serious, his green eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Let's get one thing straight, Sammy boy. I've had to deal with lugging your sorry ass around my entire life and despite that I've managed to do just fine with the ladies. More than fine, actually. Maybe if you stopped referring to them as 'chics' you might have a shot, too."

Sam laughed more out of relief than at his brother's lame joke. There was still one piece of baggage he had to unload. Once again he had to apologize for hurting Dean while under the influence of a supernatural being. He was beginning to feel like he should have a warning label put on him: Do not operate any weaponry or vehicles while under the influence of ghosts. He began to laugh harder as his thoughts became more absurd. They could start their own organization, Brothers Against Demonic Driving. Or how about Winchesters Against Demons, W.A.D.

Dean was looking at Sam as if he'd completely lost his mind, which just made Sam laugh even harder. Tears were streaming down his face as he struggled to get himself under control.

"What the hell is wrong with you? It wasn't that funny." Dean tried to act like he was still annoyed. But he couldn't help crack a smile as he watched Sam gasp for air through his guffaws. He hadn't realized how much he missed hearing his little brother laugh until now.

"I've said it before, but it bears repeating. You are such a dork." Dean chuckled as he put on his jacket. Just before he opened the door Sam's laughter finally died down.

"Dean, wait." Dean turned back around to see Sam's face still red from laughing, but his eyes were grave. "About earlier, Dean, I'm sorry I attacked you..."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Now are you referring to the time you shot me, or to the time you knocked me out and stole my car?"

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" Sam noted dryly.

Dean opened the door, determined to get the last word in. "Not by a long shot. Get to work; I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh, and try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone or I won't baby-sit you anymore."

"My brother the comedian." he muttered to the empty room. As he flipped though his father's journal a feeling of confidence swept over him. Together there was nothing the two of them could not accomplish.


	15. Chapter 15

Staring at the sprawling two story English Tudor in front of him, Dean realized he could put itoff no longer. Having just completed yet another emotional smackdown with Sam, he was so not in the mood to have a confrontation with a hormonal sixteen year old. But, as Sam had so delicately pointed out, the quicker they find out what exactly she had done to bring Monica and the stowaway demon back, the quicker they could get the hell out of town. So, after a quick hair check in the rearview mirror, Dean headed to the front door.

He was about to ring the doorbell for the second time when a mildly surprised Bill Morgan opened the door. His initial look of confusion was replaced with one of cautious hope. "Dean? What are you doing here? Did you get rid of the poltergeist?" Taking in Dean's battered appearance, he added, "Are you ok?"

Not sure which of the questions he should answer first, Dean went with, "Can I come in? We need to talk."

Stepping aside, Bill motioned for Dean to come in. As the two men entered the cozy living room, Dean was relieved to see Ashley sprawled on the couch, her leg cushioned by several pillows. The same deer-in-headlights expression she had in the diner crossed her face again when she saw her dad's visitor. As if realizing escape was impossible, she started to shift to make room for him when he held up his hand. "Stay where you are, I'm fine." Dean said as he sat in the chair opposite the couch.

Bill stood next to his daughter, his arms folded across his chest. "So I'm assuming you've come to tell me you have this all figured out." he said pointedly.

"Well, yes and no." Dean took a deep breath. He could really use Sam's support right about now. Sam tended to have a gentler touch when it came to these things. He sure picked a hell of a time to make his ploy for alone time. "Turns out it isn't a poltergeist after all. It's the spirit of Monica Brooks. And she's not alone."

As Dean said the words, Ashley's face paled as her eyes flicked up to her father. Her guilty reaction went unnoticed by him as all his attention was focused on Dean.

"I don't understand. You and your father got rid of her over a year ago!" Bill exclaimed.

Dean shifted uncomfortably under the pleading stare of the teenager. He could practically hear her begging not to divulge her secret to her father. Beneath the pale makeup andblack hair he could still see the pretty if somewhat lonely girl who had once developed an adolescent crush on him. But as he remembered the hell his little brother had gone through, that they'd both been through the last few days, whatever sympathy he had felt vanished.

Bracing himself for the inevitable tirade of emotions that was soon to follow, Dean went forward with his explanation. "We did. However, someone brought her back. From what we can tell, a spell was cast to summon the spirit of Monica Brooks. But it was cast by a very inexperienced person." He looked directly at Ashley, who was struggling to keep the tears at bay. "Not only did Monica's spirit come back, but some kind of demon was also brought back."

Bill blinked several times, as if trying to bring his whirling thoughts into focus. "Why in heaven's name would someone want to bring a ghost back? So, wait, this…this demon, you think that's what's been haunting the mansion?"

Dean started to nod his head, then stopped. "Sort of. Most demons need a host body to inhabit, kind of like a parasite. From what we can tell, this one is using Monica as a sort of energy source to carry out its destruction. She's been able to keep it under control for the most part, but recently it's been taking her over. So basically we need to perform an exorcism on a ghost."

Bill sat down on the arm of the couch. "How did you figure all this out?"

Oh, my psychic brother had a Vulcan mind meld with the lovely ghostie and she showed him the whole bedtime story. Yeah, maybe avoiding the specifics would be a good thing for now. "That's not important. What is important is finding the person who cast the spell so we can find out exactly what she did. Then we can dust this demon."

" 'She?'" Bill repeated. "So you know who it was?"

Dean slowly moved his gaze from the Bill to Ashley, whose silent tears finally overflowed. As she gave a small sob Bill looked down at her.

"Ashley, what…?" Bill broke off as comprehension dawned on him. Standing up, he moved to face her. Though he was looking at his daughter, his words were directed to Dean. "Are you saying my daughter, my teenaged daughter did this?"

"I'm afraid so." Dean said softly.

Ashley raised her tearstained face towards her father, who knelt in front of her. "Ashley, please tell me this isn't true!"

Her silence was her only testimony. "How is this possible? What did you do?" he questioned.

Ashley met her father's gaze for a moment before giving the standard answer teenagers have been using for centuries. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Billrepeated loudly. "So what, you're some kind of witch now, is that it? I bet that bastard Isaac had something to do with this."

"No!" she shouted. "He doesn't know anything about it! I just, I don't know…" she broke off tearfully.

Dean cleared his throat, startling the Morgans. "Ashley, do you remember what spell you used?"

Ashley wiped her face with right hand, smearing the mascara and eye liner that already ran down her cheeks. Her left hand encircled the pendant she wore around her neck. "I found it in a book in the mansion's library. I didn't think anything would happen, really I didn't."

"But why?" Bill asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that his daughter was responsible for all the chaos that had been happening over the past year.

"I missed her." she said miserably. "She was someone I could talk to. I mean, it's not like we sat down and had conversations over coffee, but she was there. I could feel her. She was an outcast, too; she understood me when no one else did. When she left," she glared over at Dean, "when you and your dad got rid of her, I felt so alone."

Dean's heart broke for Ashley; she looked so despondent. He was about to offer words of comfort when he noticed her necklace. It was a silver pendant about an inch in diameter. In its center was a raised ornate cross. He'd seen it before somewhere. "Ashley, where did you get that necklace?"

A surprised gasp escaped her lips as she tried to hide the cross down her shirt before her father saw it.

Bill reached forward and pulled the necklace up off her neck. "I don't believe it! You took this from the mansion! You stole this!"

Dean snuck a peek at his watch. He had almost everything he needed. He had just a few more questions. "Ashley, what spell did you use? Did it involve the necklace?"

She nodded glumly. "It was some sort of summoning spell, used to find loved ones who had passed. It required a personal item from the deceased, so I took the necklace from the display room and replaced it with one of her other ones. This is the necklace she wore in all of the paintings and pictures. I figured it was the most special to her."

Bill sat on the coffee table and looked forlornly at his daughter as she continued. "I had to light some candles and say a bunch of strange words; I think they were in Latin. All of a sudden there was this big flash of light, but after that nothing happened. A few weeks later the weird stuff started happening again. I was so excited, she was back! But then people started getting attacked."

"Yeah, and you almost got killed! Why the hell didn't you say something?" Bill yelled.

Ashley sniffled. "Oh sure, Dad. By the way, I stole a necklace from your work and cast a spell to bring back the ghost that I wasn't allowed to go near in the first place. How was your day?"

Dean felt terrible. He'd been furious at Ashley for all the trouble she'd caused; for the danger she'd put Sam and himself in. But seeing her lying on the couch, her eyes red from crying, his heart broke for her. He remembered how tough his own teenage years had been, and Sam's…well, forget about it! But he didn't have time to stay and help the family begin to mend their emotional wounds. He was fairly certain Sam was in no further danger of being psychically attacked by the spirit, but he didn't want to waste anymore time than they already had.

Dean moved over and crouched in front of the girl. Giving his most sincere smile, he asked her for the necklace. At Bill's protest, Dean explained that they needed it to complete the exorcism.

As she handed it over, Dean grabbed her hand with both of his and gave it a warm squeeze. "It'll be ok. Don't worry." He said to both of them.

Dean let himself out, a firm plan in his mind. First stop, some Mickey D's. Then, swing by to pick up Sam, and finally, head over to the Brooks' Mansion to kick some demon ass, Winchester style.

**Author's Note: **_I know, I know! There was no Sam anywhere to be found. As a Sam-girl, this was a rough chapter to write, especially with all of the exposition. Things will pick up very soon, I promise. _


	16. Chapter 16

Sam stuffed the last french fry in his mouth as they sped towards the mansion. "So the necklace is the key?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm hoping the exorcism is all we need, but I don't want to take any chances. I think we should destroy the necklace at the same time."

Sam nodded in agreement. "It was the link that brought Monica's spirit back. It could be tied to the demon as well."

Sam shook his head in confusion. "It still doesn't explain how the demon was brought back."

"It must have something to do with the fact that Dad and I had already vanquished her. That must have affected the spell somehow."

Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at Sam. "So, have you figured out which ritual to perform?"

"Well, seeing as we have a demon possessing a ghost, there really wasn't a clear precedent for this sort if thing. But I've narrowed it down to the one I think will do the trick."

"Too bad you can't send Monica a psychic telegram letting her know we're on our way." The irony of the situation hit him, and he let out a laugh. "I can't believe we're risking our lives based on a vision sent to you by a ghost. That's a new one, even for us."

Sam laughed along with him. "Yeah, well, stranger things have happened."

After a beat, both brothers looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "No they haven't."

Dean resisted the urge to yell "Jinx!" as the two brothers laughed together. It had been way to long since they had shared a laugh that wasn't at each other's expense.

Their laughter died as the mansion came into view. They lapsed into an uneasy silence as Dean drove the last hundred yards to the long winding driveway.

Sam stole a quick glance at Dean as Dean turned off the engine. The bandage had been removed, revealing a nasty two inch gash on his forehead. The swelling on his cheek had gone down, but the bruise from Sam's hard left hook still remained, as did Sam's guilt. Dean caught Sam staring at him and gave a guarded, "What?"

"You sure you're ok?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he leaned his head back. "Yes, Sam, I'm fine." he answered in a bored voice. It had taken Sam a long time to get over the guilt of shooting him at the asylum; Dean could only hope Sam would make peace with his actions quicker this time. Well, they could deal with that later. Right now, he had to get Sam's mind back into the mission. "You ready?"

Sam wanted to believe that he was, but so many questions kept nagging at him. "You sure we don't need to find the book Ashley used? We might get a few more clues from the spell."

Dean tried to keep his impatience in check. They'd already been over the "what ifs" and the "maybes". "No, Sam, I don't. Like I said before, I think our best bet is to bring Monica out and do the exorcism on her; vanquish the demon. Once it's gone, we can figure out what to do with Monica…if she even survives the exorcism."

"And you're sure this will work?" Sam asked with a hint of skepticism.

Dean threw his hands up in the air. "Of course I'm not sure! Whoever heard of doing an exorcism on a freakin' ghost?"

"Well then, don't you think it would be wise to get as much information as possible?"

It was at times like these that Dean felt a strong connection with his father. Dean had been a spectator to the fights between Sam and their father all his life. Without their dad around to spar with, Sam seemed to have set his belligerent sights on his older brother. Dean found himself facing the same determined questioning that his father had often faced. But he recognized that this particular confrontation was more about Sam doubting himself than Dean. He turned in his seat and looked Sam square in the eyes.

"I'll be completely honest with you. I don't know what's going to happen when we get in there. As far as I know, no one has ever encountered this before. You called all of Dad's contacts while I was at the Morgans' and none of them had any answers. But we both agree that the demon is the main threat here, right?" He waited for Sam to nod before continuing. "We've handled demons before; we know what to do. So get your stuff and let's do this."

You're not the only actor in the family, little brother, Dean thought to himself as his words held a confidence he didn't quite feel. But judging by the determined look in Sam's eyes, his words had give Sam the assuredness he had needed.

Hoisting a duffle bag over his shoulder, Dean spared Sam one final look before walking up the front stairs. "Try not to let Ghostie Girl get a hold of you again. Remember, Sammy…bro's before ho's."

"Jackass!" Sam yelled at Dean's back as he followed him into the house.

Sam shut the door behind him and joined Dean in the middle of the room. Bottles of holy water were clenched in the two Winchester's right hands, while Sam held his father's journal in his left. Dean looked gravely at his brother as he turned on the emf reader. "You stay with me. Got it?"

Understanding the multiple meanings behind those words, Sam simply nodded. After being attacked and taken over by the demon and ghost, respectively, he was sticking as close to Dean as possible. How ironic that he had finally gained his freedom from Dean's ever-watching eye, and now he wanted nothing more than to have his life-long protector keep watch over him and shield him from harm. When it came down to it, there was no one he'd rather have at his side than Dean. Wordlessly the two men made their way further into the mansion.

Sam began to climb the stairs. Most of the activity they'd encountered happened on the second floor; it was logical that they began their search there. Sam put the holy water under his arm and used his free hand to grip the railing. No way was he falling down the stairs a second time. His heart beat painfully against his bruised ribs as he reached the landing.

Dean began up the second flight of stairs, pausing when he noticed Sam still on the landing. He watched as Sam's slightly trembling hand brushed his brown hair out of his eyes as he looked up at the painting that loomed over him. His lips barely moved as he muttered something that Dean's straining ears couldn't quite make out.

"Sam?"

Sam backed up a step. "Yeah?"

"You coming?"

"Yeah." Sam repeated as he joined his brother on the stairs.

"What were you doing?" Dean asked.

Sam's cheeks began to turn red, this time only from embarrassment. "I was trying to talk to her; let her know we're here." He waited for the inevitable wisecrack to follow. But to his surprise Dean nodded.

"Good idea." Dean said. Sam shook his head. The day he figured out his older brother would be the surefire sign of the apocalypse.

They reached the top of the stairs and stood still, unsure of what to do next. Sam sensed his brother's eyes on him, but Dean quickly averted his gaze when Sam looked over at him. They continued their game several times before an exasperated Sam finally broke. "What!"

Dean shrugged his shoulders and began to walk down the long hallway. "Nothing."

Sam knew exactly what was eating at Dean, and he also knew there was no way Dean was going to admit it. Dean was scared. Somehow it gave him comfort knowing that his big bad older brother was just as terrified as he was.

"Dean, you getting anything?" Sam aimed the words at Dean's back.

"Nope." Dean called back. Dean wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. It was starting to get really warm, just as it had during the other attacks. He supposed that was a good sign. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Sam was still at the beginning of the corridor.

"What part of 'stay with me' did you not comprehend?" he said as he turned all the way around. He had only taken four steps towards Sam when the lights on his homemade device began to glow bright red. He continued onward, holding up the detector for Sam to see. But judging by the anxious expression on his face, Sam didn't need to see it.

The closer he got to the end of the hallway, the louder the emf detector shrieked. As the brothers made their way back towards the master staircase, Sam whispered ominously, "They're here."


	17. Chapter 17

"They're here." Though quiet, Sam's words seemed to echo in the vast space. A drop of sweat ran into Dean's eye, and he took a moment to shrug off his jacket. Tossing it next to his duffle bag, he resisted the urge to pour the holy water over his head to cool himself off. His posture tense, Dean's green eyes veered around wildly before settling on his brother.

"Where?" he whispered.

"I don't know. But can't you feel it?" Sam whispered back.

"All I can feel is this damn heat." Dean said a little louder. "Whoever heard of a ghost making a room warmer? They're supposed to suck energy out of the air, not bring it in! Stupid moron can't even get that right!"

Dean was taunting the apparitions, trying to goad them out of hiding. It was a tactic their father had used many times, the result usually being one of the Winchesters tossed face first into a wall.

Sam held his breath. If something didn't happen soon, the anticipation would kill him before the demon could. Why couldn't things happen like they did in the movies? The two heroes enter the haunted home, the big bad spirit comes out to play, and the heroes win in the end. Of course, then there would also have to be a beautiful young girl to distract one of the heroes with her ample hunting assets. No, Sam thought. A little waiting he could handle. One could only deal with a girl crazy Dean for so long.

Dean's nerves were just as on edge as his younger brother's. "This is crap. Maybe we should just start the exorcism."

"She's not here yet. Don't we need to wait until she becomes corporeal?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, and just when will that be?" Dean fired back sharply.

"I don't know, Dean. You're the so-called expert on this crap." Sam's temper began to get as hot as the room.

Dean rose out of his tense posture and took a few steps towards Sam. They were so intent on their arguing that neither noticed the lights on the wall sconces were beginning to glow brighter. Just as Sam was finishing telling Dean exactly where to shove it, the light bulbs exploded with a loud _pop! _Before the tiny glass shards hit the ground the brothers were pushed away from each other, as if a large hand had slapped them across their chests.

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, trying to ignore the dull ache that rippled through his already tender ribs. He found himself further down into the corridor while Dean lay propped up on his elbows near the staircase. Gathering up his gear, he called over to Dean.

"I'm good." Dean answered as he got to his feet. Bending down he picked up the holy water, only to have it pulled from his hand. "What…?"

Before he could react, Dean was pushed hard from behind into the banister. The wooden railing hit him in the upper abdomen as the air left his lungs in a painful grunt. The wind knocked out of him, Dean fell to the ground in a heap. He lay still, focusing on taking small breaths, the hot air burning as he tried to breathe normally.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he scrambled to his feet. The broken glass crunched beneath his sneakers as Sam raced forward. He had almost reached the end of the hallway when he was slammed back into the wall. His brother's safety still his only concern, Sam half crawled, half ran the last few feet towards Dean. He had just put his hand on Dean's arm when he was pushed away by the invisible force.

Sam slowly got to his feet and realized that he had an unwelcome assist in the task. Sam felt himself being dragged up the wall, his shoulder narrowly missing the broken light fixture on his left. He struggled in vain to free himself as his feet left the ground. Sam kicked his legs wildly. His ascent stopped momentarily as his heel smashed through the wall. His right leg stuck fast in the drywall, Sam used his other limbs to try and grab hold. He managed to get his other leg and right arm through the wall as the pressure on his upper body intensified. He was already a good ten feet up. Sam looked up at the vaulted ceiling that stood at least thirty feet above him and screamed, "Dean!"

Dean watched in horror as his brother hung on the wall like a backwards mountain climber. Dean was at a loss. How do you fight something you can't see? He knew he had to do something fast. A fall from the ceiling onto the second floor would break Sam's legs. A fall onto the first floor would make Dean an only child.

"Sammy!" Dean croaked as Sam began to rise further up towards the ceiling, his arm and legs being pulled through the wall. It was obvious that Monica had lost control of the demon again, though whether for good or just temporarily he did not know.

"Hold on, Sam!" he yelled, ignoring the absurdity of the words. He could almost hear his brother's mocking thoughts at that statement. _Good idea, Dean. I'll just hang out here. You take your time._

Dean ran over to where the journal was splayed open on the floor. Quickly flipping through the pages he found the ritual they had chosen to perform. As he began to recite the opening prayer he tried not to notice as Sam rose another five feet.

Sam closed his eyes as he heard the Latin words being spoken below him. His limbs had broken free and now hung limply against the wall as he rose higher and higher. Another few seconds and he would reach the top of the mansion. What would happen then? Would he be dropped like a playhouse sandbag or did the demon have a worse fate in store? Sam tried to push away thoughts of his beloved girlfriend pinned on their apartment ceiling, the blood dripping from her stomach as the fire began to consume her.

The thought of dying before getting the chance to avenge his girlfriend's death reignited Sam's resolve, and Sam continued his struggles, reciting as much of the prayer as he could remember. As the two Winchester's words filled the room, Sam's ascent began to slow. Sam felt the pressure against his chest leave as suddenly as it had come, and with a yell Sam fell to the ground twenty feet below.

Sam's terrified yell snapped Dean's head up out of the text he was halfway through. Dean watched helpless as Sam plummeted towards the ground.

Amazingly, Sam hadn't lost consciousness, although judging from the pained look in his hazel eyes, Dean was willing to bet that he wished he had. Laying a hand on his brother's arm, he hunched over to get a better look into Sam's face. "Sam, are you ok?"

Sam swallowed a few times before giving a pained, "Maybe."

"Don't move." A horrible thought entered Dean's mind. "Wait, _can_ you move?"

Sam meticulously moved his limbs one by one in answer. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw all seemed to be in working order. "Come on, Sam. We've got to get you out of here."

Sam let out a pained cry as he began to sit up. "I think I broke some ribs."

Dean nodded sympathetically. He knew what that felt like all too well. "Sam, you fell thirty feet. You're lucky that's all you broke."

With Dean's help, Sam was able to get to his feet. He bit his lip as he began to put pressure on his left leg. "I think I sprained my ankle."

Looking at the two flights of stairs in front of him, Dean inwardly groaned. This was not going to be easy. But he had to get Sam out of there before anything else happened. "Come on, Sam. The demon could come back any second."

Sam wrenched his arm free and leaned against the wall for support. "I'm not going anywhere. We need to finish this"

"And I will…once you're back in the car."

"I'm not leaving you here alone with this thing! The only way you're getting me out of here is to carry me out, and there's no way your short ass can carry me down two flights of stairs. We're doing this together, and we're doing this right now. And don't try to pull some macho big brother crap about how you can do this alone. I'm staying. End of discussion."

Dean bit back a laugh. It wasn't often that Sam stood up to him. "Well, look who grew a pair."

Sam rewarded him with half a smile. "Yeah, but I think I broke them in the fall."

Dean laughed at that. "Come on, kid. Let's get you downstairs."

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay, I was having technical issues. Also, sorry for the awkward ending, but if I kept going the chapter would have been way too long for my liking. There are only a few chapters left…two, maybe three. Thanks for sticking with me so far!


	18. Chapter 18

Getting Sam down the stairs was not an easy task. He could barely put weight on his injured ankle, and the tentative grip Dean had around his waist was torture on his broken ribs. By the time they reached the first floor Sam could barely restrain from crying out in agony.

Dean eased him down on the bottom step, then bounded back up the stairs to grab their gear. Coming back down he looked worriedly at Sam. The younger man's eyes were shut as his head leaned against the railing. Dean raised the heavy duffel bag high in the air and let it drop to the floor. Sam didn't even flinch as the bag landed with a loud thump right next to him.

Dean knelt down in front of his brother and called his name in a stern voice. Sam opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. "Are we ready?" he asked tiredly.

"Sam, are you sure you're up to this?"

The next time Sam's eyes opened they were filled with a dark determination. He sat up and held out his hand. "Give me the damn journal."

Dean handed him the book. Then, reaching into his back pocket he pulled out the silver necklace once owned by Monica Brooks. Holding it by the clasp he let it dangle, watching as the raised cross spun around. A strong gust of wind came out of nowhere; nearly pulling the necklace from his grasp as he almost lost his balance.

Dean gathered the necklace up tightly in his fist. "Sam! Start reading!" he shouted over the wind.

Sam did his best to hold the pages in place as he began reading the scripture. The mysterious wind that was raging through the old mansion was as hot as a desert dust storm. Sam had to use his free hand to keep his shaggy hair out of his eyes as he recited the Latin prayer. Dean was beside him, his brow furrowed as he stood deep in thought.

Sam continued reading as Dean dropped to his knees, pulling the duffle bag closer to him. The wind slowly began to die down as Sam made his way through the ritual. Dean was slightly comforted in that, but couldn't help thinking it was just the calm before the storm. A hint of a smile crossed his face as his hands found what they were searching for. As he pulled out the blow torch his gaze locked with Sam's, whose eyes widened as he realized Dean's plan.

The pendant once again dangled from Dean's grasp as he moved the flame closer to it. The blue flame had just about reached the necklace when a shout from Sam made him pause. As he looked towards his brother a hand caught him around his neck.

Dean gasped for air as he focused on the apparition in front of him. One look into her eyes told him he wasn't just dealing with Monica right now. The blue eyes that had stared pleadingly into Sam's soul were now as black as the starless night. The demon had fully taken control.

Dean brought the blowtorch up and thrust it at his attacker. She let out a primal scream as the flame caught her on the shoulder. The next instant the blowtorch was ripped out of his hand, and Dean was thrown backwards through the air. He hit the ground painfully and skidded to a halt, slamming his head on the information desk near the mansion's main entrance.

"Dean!" Sam screamed. He tried to get to his feet, only to fall back as the pain from his broken ribs overcame him. Sam strained his eyes, trying to get a read on how badly his brother was hurt. The steady rise and fall of Dean's chest reassured him only slightly. The sound of Dean's head smacking into the thick wooden leg of the antique desk resonated in Sam's mind. He could only hope that his brother's thick head had saved him from suffering too severe a concussion.

As worried as he was about his unconscious sibling, Sam knew their only hope was to finish the exorcism. Keeping a wary eye on Monica, Sam continued the readings. Letting out a bloodcurdling shriek, Monica whirled around, the wind wildly swirling around her long dark hair. In an instant she was before him.

In desperation Sam grabbed the bottle of holy water, inwardly wincing at the tiny amount of water that shot out. Small tendrils of smoke rose from where the droplets landed on Monica's dark dress as she retreated a few steps. Sam couldn't tell who was more surprised as he took in the shocked look on the apparition's face. Taking advantage of her hesitation Sam focused in on the scriptures, speaking them as loudly and as fast as possible.

Monica advanced towards him, her face twisted in a frightful grimace. As she reached for him again suddenly her body was wracked by a massive tremor. The wind began to die down as she stood still, folded into herself. Sam took advantage of her distraction to toss more holy water at her. An unearthly roar shook the walls as the demon struggled to remain in control.

Just as Sam thought the battle was over, Monica's head shot up and fixed upon Sam with a murderous gaze. The words caught in his throat as the journal was ripped from his hands. Sam's eyes followed the book as it sailed through the air, landing with a barely audible _thump_ a few feet from his brother's prone body.

Sam sat transfixed as the being came towards him. Her gnarled face had become even more shriveled, cracking like rain-starved soil. Frantically he began to recite the Latin prayers as he tried to douse her with the remaining holy water.

Déjà vu struck Sam as once again the spirit's hands were upon him, only this time they locked around his neck. His remaining breath was expelled in a pain filled yell as he was yanked to his feet. As he struggled to free himself he heard a small voice cut through the ringing in his ears. He had barely enough time to register Dean's voice before he found himself airborne, landing not far from where Dean sat with their father's journal in his lap.

The pain in his ribs was almost too much to bear. Sam closed his eyes and tried to give himself over to the comforting, pain-free darkness. Dean's frantic voice pulled him back, and Sam forced his eyes open.

"Sam! Sam, come on, dude, stay with me." Dean pulled on Sam's sleeve.

Dean watched as his battered younger brother pushed himself up onto his elbows. Dean had woken up just in time to see that the ritual Sam had been reading was working; the demon was weakening. Monica's necklace was still wrapped around his fist as he continued reading where Sam had left off.

Sam's bottle of holy water was just a few inches beyond Dean's left foot. Wincing at the pain in his own injured ribs, Dean leaned forward and used his foot to pull it closer to where Sam lay. "Sam, grab the water!"

The two battered siblings sat next to each other and in one voice continued reading the sacred words. Monica rushed forward in a fury, only to stop short as if some invisible force obstructed her path. She fell to her knees in obvious pain as the Winchesters, bolstered by the sight, continued reading in a strong voice.

Dean felt Sam's hand grip his arm and he looked up to see the being struggling towards them once more. "Keep reading!" he shouted.

Dean staggered to his feet, listing as the dizziness took hold. Sam was shouting now, his words could barely be heard over the unearthly sounds emanating from Monica as the demon raged within her.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti! Amen!" Holding his breath, Sam lurched to his knees and tossed the last of the holy water, a cry of pain escaping his lips as his sudden movements reeked havoc on his ribs.

At the same time Dean threw the pendant at Monica. Whether it was fate or pure dumb luck Dean didn't know, but he watch in amazement as the necklace and the holy water met in midair, and continued towards their target.

A brilliant flash of light blinded Dean as the necklace hit Monica in the abdomen. A shockwave stemming from Monica sent Dean to his knees as he shielded his eyes from the brightness.

After a few seconds had passed Dean lowered his arms, blinking at the spots that flashed before his eyes. He whipped his head around, trying to assess the situation. Scorch marks marred the floor where Monica had stood, the silver necklace laying amongst the black. However, Monica was nowhere to be seen.

"Dean? Did we do it?" Sam looked just as confused as Dean felt.

"Um, I think we did."

With a groan, Dean got to his feet and walked towards the necklace. He started to bend over to retrieve it, but the wave of vertigo and the sharp pain in his ribs forced him to bend at the knees. Epson salts, here I come, he though to himself as he envisioned the long hot bath he owed himself tonight.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam's voice had a hollowness to it that sent chills down Dean's spine. Before he could ask, Dean saw what had unnerved his brother. Standing barely three feet in front of him was the nearly transparent image of a beautiful young woman. Her warm smile extended all the way to her deep blue eyes. Her long black hair cascaded past her shoulders, falling just past the black lace on her dark dress.

"It's her." Sam whispered.

Dean found himself speechless as he stared at the spirit before him. He sensed movement behind him, but could not tear his eyes away. Out of the corner of his eye saw Sam come and stand beside him.

"The demon, it's gone?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Monica's smile grew even wider as she slowly nodded her head. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. She graced them with one last smile as she began to fade from view. Both men felt a velvety touch caress their cheeks as her soul connected with theirs, whispering her gratitude.

For a few moments they stood side by side, wounded, exhausted, yet feeling a sense of tranquility. They had defeated a dark power, and in doing so had freed a pure spirit. More importantly, they had accomplished it together. No matter what the world threw at them, despite the unintentional harm they often caused each other in words or actions, the bond the two brothers shared could defeat even the most powerful evil.

Dean broke himself out of his reverie and cleared his throat, amazed at how loud it sounded in the still room. "Come on, Sam. We've still got one piece of business left."

Sam looked at Dean for a moment before breaking into a soft smile. Dean gathered up their gear, trying not to wince as he slung the duffle bag across his right shoulder. Walking back over to Sam, he offered his left shoulder to his hobbling brother, who gratefully accepted the assistance. With one last look back, they walked out of the Brooks Mansion for the last time.

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**Author's Note: **There is only one chapter remaining, which I will put up as soon as humanly possible (hopefully by the weekend). Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

Sam shifted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn't further aggravate his injuries. Half an hour ago he and Dean had left the mansion after exorcising the demon from the ghost of Monica Brooks. Although it had seemed as if her spirit was finally at rest, they didn't want to take any chances. After some bickering over who was in the best shape to drive, Dean had gotten behind the wheel and driven back to the motel. Once their injuries had been tended to they headed over to the Morgan's.

Sam reached his hand up his shirt and tugged on the bandages Dean had wrapped tightly around his ribs. Thankfully he had only twisted his ankle, and was able to talk Dean out of taping that as well. His hand froze as his slightly irritated older brother spoke his name.

"Sam! For the last time, leave it alone!" Dean had been watching Sam squirm for the last fifteen minutes, and although he felt for the kid, his own injuries and exhaustion had shortened his already small fuse. "I had to make it…"

"It tight or they won't heal." Sam finished wryly. "Yeah, I know."

What a ragged looking bunch, he thought to himself as he looked at his companions. Ashley sat sideways on the couch, her broken leg propped up on several pillows. The lump on the back of Dean's head had gone down considerably thanks to the makeshift ice pack he had fashioned when they arrived at the Morgan's. Sam still found it hard to look at the cuts and bruises on Dean's face, knowing that he was at least partially responsible. As for himself, he felt like he had gone through the rinse cycle only to have the washing machine dropped onto him from the roof of a ten-story building.

Sam and Dean had just finished recounting the last few days for Ashley, who sat in a stunned silence. Though she still wore black from head to toe, the severe makeup was gone, as were the dark contacts. Her green eyes had been cast downward the entire time, looking up only as the two brothers began to bicker.

"So I have to destroy Monica's necklace? But didn't you just say that you guys won? The demon is gone."

Sam nodded. "It is. We did the exorcism and freed Monica from the demon. The problem is, we've never come across anything like this before. A demon possessing a ghost, I mean. We just don't want to take any chances."

"And it has to be me because I'm the one who did the spell, right?" she asked, looking down at the silver necklace she held in her hand.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, the latter giving a shrug. "Well, we figure it couldn't hurt. We don't want to take any chances. I don't want to have to set foot in this town again. Unless, of course, I'm visiting the prettiest girl I know." Dean said with a wink.

Ashley laughed as her cheeks flushed. Running a finger across the raised surface of the cross, her smile faded.

"Ashley." Dean said in a low voice.

Ashley stopped fidgeting with the necklace, but did not look up.

"It'll be okay. You can do this." Dean said in a gentle voice.

Taking a deep breath she looked Dean square in the eyes and said, "Let's do it."

Dean pulled the ice pack away from his head and set it down on the coffee table. Stiffly he began to rise out of his chair when Ashley stopped him.

"Stay put, Dean. I got this." Easing her broken leg onto the floor she hoisted herself onto her feet. Although both crutches were propped up against the couch, she grabbed only one. After situating it under her arm she gave Dean an "I told you so" look.

As she made her way over to the fireplace Dean looked over at Sam and grinned, raising his eyebrows. Sam smiled back and shook his head in wonder. For once his lothario brother had used his powers for good. A few charming words accompanied by a mischievous wink had restored Ashley's self-confidence.

Dean watched as Ashley stood as still as a statue in front of the fireplace, the necklace clenched tightly in her fist. Almost two full minutes had passed, and she had yet to toss the necklace into the fire. Dean looked over at Sam who shrugged his shoulders. Dean began to get up when Sam stopped him.

"Dean." he said, nodding his head towards the back of the living room.

Dean turned his head just in time to see the young girl cast the necklace into flames. He was reminded of their encounter with Hook Man. Judging by the pensive expression on his brother's face, he was not the only one.

Ashley hobbled over to where the two men sat. "That's it?"

Dean nodded. "That's it."

"Huh. Kind of anticlimatic." she said, a hint of disappointment tinting her voice.

Sam laughed, wincing a bit as his ribs reminded him of the fall he took earlier. "Bigger isn't always better." he said ruefully.

"Don't even say it, Dean!" Sam pointed a stern finger at his older brother, knowing that a lewd comment was sure to follow.

"What?" Dean sat back in his chair, his arms out to the side as he played up the innocent victim routine.

Ashley began to giggle, and even Sam had to smile at Dean's star performance. Easing herself back onto the couch she finally got her laughter under control. Her mood seemed to darken as her smile turned into a frown. The look that crossed her face was one Sam knew all too well.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah." she sighed. "It's just..."

"Your dad?" Sam prodded.

"He's already pissed about all the trouble I caused. When he finds out I destroyed a piece of the museum's inventory, he's gonna go nuclear."

"Trust me, when he sees the damage we caused he'll forget all about one tiny necklace." Dean said.

"Speaking of which, we'd better hit the road, Sammy, before he sees the holes you put in the wall from your little Spiderman routine."

"But--" Sam started.

"Ashley, it was great seeing you again." Dean said quickly, cutting his brother off. "Listen, try to keep away from the ghosts and the spells. That's our gig, ok?"

"Deal." She smiled wistfully. "I will miss having her around, though."

Dean gave her an uncomfortable smile. He was never good at comforting people; he had his sappy Sammy for that. Looking over at him he waited for Sam to work his magic.

Sam silently got to his feet, one arm wrapped protectively around his middle.

Limping slightly he walked over to the couch and crouched down in front of her. He placed his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "Take care of yourself, Ashley. If you ever need anything at all, day or night, just give us a call."

Her green eyes shone brightly as she smiled back at Sam, and Dean knew that she would be ok. He knew he should take Sam's cue and say something warmhearted and uplifting, but the urge to mess around was just too strong.

"Preferably day, not night. Actually, anytime after noon would be best. Unless you're calling Sam's phone. In that case, by all means…day or night."

Sam looked up at Dean. "You are such an idiot."

Dean held out his hand. "Come on, Sam. Let's hit the road."

Sam accepted the aid of Dean's arm to get back to a standing position. Dean gave Ashley one last smile and said his goodbye.

As they walked down the long driveway both brothers headed towards the driver's side of the Impala. Dean stopped and said, "What are you doing?"

Sam had taken out his keyring and was about to put the key in the lock. "I'm driving."

"The hell you are!" Dean exclaimed.

"Dean, in case you forgot, you were unconscious only a few hours ago. You're in no shape for a long drive." Sam explained.

"Yeah, well, you have broken ribs." Dean countered.

"So do you!"

"No, mine are just bruised. And let's not forget your ankle."

"I don't need my left leg to drive, Dean."

"Sam."

"Dean."

Dean's green eyes narrowed menacingly. "First of all, I'm the older brother; what I say goes. Second of all, it's my damn car! You're lucky I'm even letting you ride in it after what you put me through these last few days. Do I really need to bring up your little carjacking incident?"

Sam stared a moment longer, then looked away in defeat. "Fine."

They got in the car, each biting back groans at their aches and pains. Sam sat forlornly in the passenger seat, his attack on Dean replaying in his mind.

"Dean, about what happened the other day...I'm really sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, I didn't bring it up to make you feel guilty. I know you weren't in control. Again."

"So we're good?"

"Yes, Sam, we're good. Now would you shut up? I can't hear the music over your yammering!" Dean cranked up the volume and began to sing along at the top of his lungs.

"My brother, ladies and gentlemen." Sam murmured. "Ya gotta love him."

**The End**

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**Author's Note: **That's it, folks! I hope y'all enjoyed the story; I had a blast writing it. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review (and private message!), I appreciate it so much. See ya around!


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